


Hot For Teacher

by LMB



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Community College, Humor, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, cuteness, headcanons, side pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-07-12 06:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15989363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMB/pseuds/LMB
Summary: Robert Stefánsson runs this small community college, and he knows it. Never into the academic scene to begin with, he'd much rather smoke with his band of “Rottens” in the theater and disrupt lessons with a stand-up routine on how boring they are, sometimes making staff quit as an added bonus. But there's something about that new history professor he can't quite shake off.





	1. "Did you hear about Haninn?"

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the LAME Van Halen reference of a title, I was up way past my bedtime when I thought of it and no other name would stick. ;P

In the halls of LazyTown Community College, in spite of its unfortunate name, you could always hear the sounds of people hard at work. Whether they were testing out their new solar-powered scooter or studying Mars' orbit in one of the science labs, there was always something new and interesting to stumble upon.

The sounds of students practicing in the theater for the school's spring benefit performance was no different—not really. It was new. It was interesting. But only because unlike everyone else, it wasn't as productive. Actually, it was safe to say it was a disaster.

"...Shit, what was my line again?"

"O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

"It is the sun and Juliet is the east."

"Cut, cut! You've got it all wrong," the director and head of the Drama Department, Dean Bessie Busybody, scolded. "William, you're not on yet, get back behind the curtain. Kenneth, it's the other way around! 'It is the east, and Juliet is the sun'!" She sighed, running a hand through her blue hair. Everyone heard of the blue-haired church ladies stereotype, but they never thought they'd meet a more literal definition. "Let's try it again!"

Disjointed sounds of practicing filled the air once more.

"O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

"It is the west and, uh... Julia is the moon."

"Avast, ye numbskull! Git yer filthy hands off me young wench!"

"Cut, cut! Kenneth, not again, we've been over this. And William! Lord Capulet is not a pirate! Read the script as it was given to you!" 

"Dean Busybody! Dean Busybody, _how_ am I supposed to work with a bunch of idiots who were raised under a rock and have no culture?" the person who was playing Juliet complained.

"One can only try, Stingy... er, Stuart," she corrected quickly, upon realizing she'd used his friends' nickname for him by accident.

"It's okay, I don't mind that. But what I _do_ mind is that these fools are ruining _my show!"_ Stingy yelled the last part, turning to the two others onstage.

"Hey, buddy, what do you want us to do?" Kenneth demanded.

"Yeah, we gotta get our fine arts credit somehow," said William.

"Then take an acting class, for Pete's sake. Your _acts_ are stinking up _my_ stage!"

"You're the one who stinks. I can smell your perfume from here!" Kenneth backfired as he and William waved their hands over their noses. Stingy's jaw dropped.

 _"Excuse_ me, I happen to smell like a flowery breeze. You smell like Cheesy Garlicky Crunch-Os!"

"Ugh." Dean Busybody rolled her eyes. She swore, if Stingy— _Stuart—_ weren't so talented, she would've kicked him out of the play a long time ago. She liked drama, she was the head of it for God's sake, but this... this was just ridiculous. The poor woman was stressed enough as it was, considering she spent most of the day worrying about how the transitioning process was going for— well, never mind. She couldn't spoil the surprise now.

In the background, she could make out four blackened figures trying to sneak towards the exit from behind the curtains. "Hell _o,_ Robert!" Her voice cut through the air as she placed her hands on her hips. "How nice of you and your friends to join us. You're late! Again!"

"Am I?" The tallest of the four walked up and brushed off the collar of his leather jacket, smoothing down his dark pompadoured hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice. I must've been too busy, ah, not caring."

Everyone looked at each other and held their breaths, either trying not to laugh or waiting for the explosion that was no doubt imminent from their hot-headed teacher. However, she only sighed.

"There's a part for you in the play if you want it, Robert. I know how talented you are."

Robbie's eyes widened for a second before narrowing again. "I don't know what you're talking about." Then, he turned around with a flash of his very skinny jeans that nobody knew how he managed to put on every day and left with his three other friends, who sported the same look.

"Alright, everyone, back to work!" Dean Busybody said, clapping her hands, though she and everyone else knew it wouldn't quite be the same after that. Robbie Rotten and his Rottens never liked to leave a room how it was when they entered; it was just the way they were. Sure enough, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted from behind the curtains, and some students emerged, coughing up a fit.

Dean Busybody groaned. "Oh, not again. Class dismissed!"

Everyone filed out, mumbling among themselves, and she dialed a number on her phone. "Milford! The auditorium is dirty again! Get down here, and bring your ozone generator!"

~

Four elbows rested on the handrails of the bleachers with one person on each step. Robbie took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke, allowing his gaze to wander the whole track and field. Oh yeah. This place was his. The students, professors, coaches, and cafeteria workers all answered to him, and he knew it.

He jolted upright at the small  _click!_ of a camera.

"Flobby," he gritted, turning to him.

"He's not wrong, you know. We do look iconic," said Bobby.

"Mm. True," he mused, fluttering his eyelashes, which were long and black beneath his purple eyeshadow. "Still, a _warning_ would be nice every once in a while?"

Flobby nodded, smiling, and Robbie threw his hands up. God, being popular was hard work. It made him tired just thinking about it, most days.

"Do you think we could really be in the play, if we wanted?" Tobby spoke next, making him turn back around with a dubious grin on his face.

"Why would you ever want to do that?"

"The Dean thinks you might want to," said Bobby, and Flobby nodded in agreement.

"What? That old spazz? She can't even go five seconds without tripping over herself and squawking at the president," Robbie said, turning away from the chuckling and nudging elbows behind him so they wouldn’t see the quickly-darkening expression on his face. He hated thinking about that day. He'd lost a bet he made a while back with some guys from MayhemTown Tech that he could drink a whole jug of apple juice without vomiting or stopping to breathe. Turns out neither one was possible. Now, his beautiful clothes were covered in puke, he almost died, and he had to do what they asked since he was the loser, which was to audition for the spring play. For some reason, they knew he sort of wanted to but was too shy to actually go for it, which pissed him off.

Anyway! He, of course, killed it, to the point where he got a callback for the main lead. A callback that he did not attend because his legs turned around as soon as they got to the door of the theater and walked and walked until they were out of the building, down the stairs of his dorm, and lying in bed. The next day, someone else totally unqualified had the part, which Robbie would never  _ever_ stop beating himself up about. But he couldn't help it! What if he tripped? What if he opened his mouth and no words came out? What if he just stood there the whole time in front of the judges, gawking like a fish?

He'd been so careful to not show any interest in the flyers posted around school—to arrive at auditions after everyone else left. None of the other students knew about this, not even his cronies. He couldn't afford to lose their respect for him as a leader by admitting his pathetic ass was too _scared._ They seemed distracted now, luckily, chattering and laughing among themselves as Robbie ruminated. 

"Did you hear about Haninn?"

"Yeah, apparently he grew a new wart on his nose!" 

"Is it next to the one with the grey hairs poking out of it?"

The three of them collectively shivered. "Hey, Robbie," said Bobby, tapping his shoulder, "you have him for European History tomorrow—maybe you can affirm if it's true or not."

"Ugh, I don't want to," Robbie groaned. A vulgar, nasty old man with rheumatics and a large illegal drug use and arrest-filled background, Professor Haninn was one of the most despicable beings to walk the earth, let alone teach a history class. "You guys better promise to bail me out again."

"What are friends for?" Tobby smiled, leaning past Bobby to hug Robbie.

"Aha, very funny. Now get off me." Robbie loosened his grip before anything could get too warm and fuzzy. 

Just then, a loud clamor rose from the field. Robbie rolled his eyes at first, thinking it was the football players coming to ruin the tranquil silence of his favorite hangout spot, but then the other Rottens began pointing and shouting too. He looked up and was greeted by a sight so amazing, and yet so infuriating at the same time: a young man with a beanie doing consecutive flips down the track.

A bunch of student athletes crowded and cheered around him while Robbie gasped in horror. "What on Earth—?" Soon, the man had stopped, but he was now doing a handstand on the field and turning himself around, laughing as his white t-shirt exposed a bit of his belly. His tan, athletic, well-toned belly.

Robbie shook his head and pointed at a nearby skateboarder with a crop top, loose army jeans, and pigtails. "You! Tricky!"

"It's 'Trixie', dipstick!" She rolled her eyes and popped her gum.

“Whatever. Who in God’s name is _that?”_ He gestured emphatically across the field to the man just casually tossing a football back and forth with everyone as he maintained his position.

“Oh, him? That’s Dean Busybody’s son. Just replaced Old Rooster yesterday, apparently.”

Robbie chortled at the use of Professor Haninn's nickname. He'd come up with it himself, and now, much to his triumph, every student called him that behind his back. “He is, huh? Well.” He cracked his knuckles as the gears began to spin in his brain. “I’ll be sure to give him a warm welcome tomorrow.”

His cronies gathered around him, and the four of them shared the same conspiratorial grin. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, Robbie, what are you up to? XD
> 
> Guess we'll have to find out!


	2. "We've got another bet for ya, Rob."

For once, Robbie arrived at European History fairly early. He'd often be twenty minutes late from sleeping in or arguing with the cafeteria workers about why _he_ deserved more chocolate chips in his chocolate chip pancakes than anyone else—ideally even ditching class altogether—but this time he had a plan, and he was eager to put it into action. He stopped by the teacher's desk and examined it a bit, prodding around, before the other students arrived and he slinked to the back of the room.

Now, when Robbie said he held a track record for making the most teachers quit in the shortest amount of time, he was not exaggerating. It wasn't all that hard. All one had to do was dig up dirt, interrupt a lesson with an impromptu saxophone solo, plant a stink bomb somewhere in the room, and that would usually do the trick. This Busybody's son, if he turned out to be anything like his blue-haired goose of a mother, would be his easiest victim yet.

Soon, almost everyone had entered the room except the professor. Part of him expected it to be a joke, that he would be greeted by Old Rooster's ugly face with warts and grey hair sticking out as usual, but no—in walked Mr. Perfect, with his pointed mustache, tailored blue suit, and wavy blonde hair in place of that ridiculous hat he wore the other day. Funny. He almost thought he'd be bald. Robbie chortled at the thought before immediately frowning when the man turned his way. He didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"Welcome, class!"

Robbie scoffed. ' _Welcome'? You're the last person here, you dolt._

"Before we begin where you were all left off on the fall of the West Roman Empire and start of Medieval Europe, I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Alex Busybody." He began writing on the chalkboard when some girl in the front row's hand shot up. "Yes?"

"Hi, excuse me, but do you know what happened to Professor Haninn?"

"My mother told me yesterday. I'm afraid he was caught doing drugs and incarcerated again. Poor man." His voice tainted with sadness as he shook his head, which some of the girls found attractive, judging by their wistful sighs. Robbie only scoffed. "So yes, to answer your question, I will be your new professor!" He grinned, standing in a power pose, and Robbie swore, he'd never hated anyone more in all his life. "Why? Did you like Professor Haninn?"

"Oh, no, he was terrible! You're  _much_  better," the girl said, fluttering her eyelashes. But apparently, the man did not catch on, as he turned away from her and said, "Does anyone else have any questions?" The room was silent, so he cleared his throat. "As I was saying. Alex is my real name, and I don't really like my 'professor' title since it implies I'm better than all of you, which I'm not. So, everybody can call me Sportacus! Yes?" A hand shot straight up at that last part.

"Is that name both a passing reference to your affinity for physical movement and to Karl Marx's longstanding admiration of Greco-Roman leaders and philosophers such as Spartacus, the slaves' struggle for freedom within ancient Thracian society, and the continuing argument about whether or not social classes do, in fact, exist in the contemporary United States?"

"Ha, no." He shook his head, smiling, "It's just something my frat buddies came up with when they found out I wrote my thesis on him and the mythical Roman world." Robbie had to hand it to the guy; at least he could smell a know-it-all a mile away. Not that he was anywhere close to complimenting him, of course! He watched and snickered as the silenced idiot in front of him hung his head. _"Nerd,"_ he taunted so only the both of them could hear.

The guy rolled his eyes. "What do you know, Robbie?"

"How not to suck up to the professor, unlike you, _Poodle."_

"It's 'Pixel'. And I was merely making an observation."

"Whatever." Ronald, AKA Pixel, was one of the most annoying students in history class. While Robbie was working ever-so diligently to open his history textbook, turn it around, lean forward, and go to sleep, whatever-his-name's hand would go flying up, and he'd have something to say about this topic. Or _that_ topic. Or...  some _other_ topic! But enough about the techno geek. The other most annoying student was definitely—

"Hi, Sportacus! I just wanted to say welcome to our college community and that on behalf of all of us, it's very nice to meet you."

Her. The president's niece. Pink Hair Girl, by _far._

"Well, thank you. It's nice to meet you too, Stephanie," Sportacus said, smiling. "It's nice to meet all of you," he added, gesturing to the whole classroom. Robbie watched in horror as no one but himself rolled his eyes and groaned. Instead, it was as if nobody could stop staring at the new professor or sighing or doodling silly pink hearts in their notebooks, guys and girls alike all entranced.

_What the hell?_

"Now, any last questions before we begin?"

Pixel started to raise his hand when Robbie blew a spitball into his red dreadlocks, and he flinched, trying to get it out. Robbie's shoulders shook with laughter. "Good! Let's get into it."

Robbie may have avoided most of history class since it first began a couple months ago, but he had a pretty good idea of what Old Rooster sounded like: dull, monotone, and crass whenever someone did something they weren't supposed to or he had a hairball in his throat. At least, Robbie thought it was a hairball. It would explain why he was always choking and coughing his lungs out. Sportacus's voice, as much as he hated to admit it, was nicer on the ears. He didn't have the loud, blaring ability of a performer in front of a Times Square audience, but it went up and down like a natural poet's as he explained about the Byzantine revival and "education Renaissance" in the East while the manors in Western Europe had adopted a feudal system and weren't learning much of anything. 

"The Dark Ages," someone pointed out.

"Exactly!" Sportacus smiled, a bounce in his step. That was the other thing—he liked to point and change his pose and snap and wave his arms and hop on one foot and pace a _lot._

 _Come on, come on! Why doesn't that idiot sit?_ Robbie thought to himself. If this didn't work, he'd actually be paying attention in class for the first time, and that would be a travesty! His frail pride couldn't take it.

"I have an activity I made for you guys to help you study for your exam. I left it in my desk," said Sportacus, and _finally,_ he sat down in his chair. Almost immediately after he did, there was a loud farting noise. Everybody laughed and/or grimaced while Sportacus jumped several feet, and a foul odor stank up the room. Robbie was silent the whole time, biting his lip to keep from laughing. When Sportacus reached down and pinched something red between his fingers and asked with the most confused expression, "Who placed this here?" he nearly doubled over. 

Everybody pointed to Robbie, of course, and he waved with the cheekiest grin imaginable, basking in the glory. "Mr. Stefánsson," said Sportacus, "I'd like to see you after class, please."

Right away, a chorus of "Oooooh~!" rose from everyone, though they stopped when Robbie glared at them. 

~

Robbie was silently annoyed for the remaining hour. He hated the pitying looks sent his way by people thinking he could get into real trouble. As if this loser could actually make him bend to his rules. He was Robbie Rotten, for flarg's sake! He wanted to yell at them, "Have you learned nothing?!" He was the king of avoidance; no way would Sportaloser catch him after class.

He grinned at the one out of several nicknames he'd devised for him during that class period before looking around and weighing his options. Well, let's see, the window wasn't far from his desk. He could easily scooch his chair little by little until he was just outside of it and climb out when no one was looking. _...Ex_ cept that they were on the second floor, and he was deathly afraid of heights. Okay! Moving on! The fire alarm was next to him. His hand could accidentally "slip" and trip it. Then, the whole place would go nuts, and no one would be able to find him in the large crowd. ... _But_ Robbie promised his father he wouldn't do anything illegal again, and fines were expensive. Dammit! Now what?

Aha! Robbie could fake a cough! Then, Sportaninny wouldn't bother him because he'd think he needed to get a drink of water before coming back, like a good little student. Yes, that could work!

He picked up his bag and made a point of coughing especially loud as he walked past Sportacus. Sure enough, he didn't hear anything from him. "Boy, am I thirsty," he added for good measure, clutching at his throat. Once he was outside the door, he stopped and smiled. "Heh heh, yes! Time to go get the others." He tiptoed towards the theater, where he knew the other Rottens would be waiting.

"I'm not an idiot," came Sportacus's voice from behind him. Robbie turned around and let out a short, involuntary yell before covering his mouth.

 _"Jesus,"_ he breathed.

"The 'I need water' trick? Really?" Sportacus continued, tutting, though his eyes were shining. "Ha, nope. You're coming with me, Mr. Stefánsson." He held open the door and ushered Robbie in as his face went tomato-red and he sputtered like a dying car engine. Oh God, he'd been caught. Panic mode. He sat down in the chair placed by Sportacus's desk, every possible nightmare he ever had of what might happen in this scenario rushing to his head. They would haunt him at night with their threats of suspension and expulsion and everybody jeering at and mocking his very name. 

The door closed, snapping him from his thoughts, and Sportacus took a seat in front of him, laughing. "You know, I only just graduated university a couple months ago. It didn't work there, and it won't here, either. It was a great try, though."

"Thank you," Robbie sneered. This only succeeded in making Sportacus laugh harder, and Robbie decided right away that _any_ scenario that had crossed his mind was better than this.

Sportacus held up the object of interest that he'd sat on earlier. "Did you make this?"

"I, uh... yes?" Robbie stammered, playing with the cuff links on his jacket. God, why was he so nervous?

"It's absolutely brilliant." 

"Well, thank you!" Whoopie Cushions that actually smelled like ass—Robbie's personal invention, of which he was quite proud.

"Tell me this," Sportacus said, leaning an elbow on the table so he could rest his head in his hand. "Is there some underlying reason you decided to place it in my chair today other than that you might want to get my attention?"

Robbie didn't answer, only frowning and folding his arms. Sportacus smiled. "I already knew who you were, Mr. Stefánsson. The president and several other staff notified me of your reputation as soon as I stepped foot here."

"Oh, they're too kind," Robbie cooed in a high-pitched voice, waving them off in between gags.

"But you know something? I don't think you're as rebellious as you say you are. I think with a mutual understanding, we can maximize your education and grow to become great friends."

 _Please._ This guy was just pushing it.

"Hah, whatever. Can I leave now?"

"Alright. But the offer still stands." Sportacus extended a hand, and Robbie flinched before realizing he was supposed to shake it. He rolled his eyes but grabbed onto it anyway. Then, something weird happened. They could feel it: a short yet fierce lightning bolt that coursed through both their wrists. Robbie gasped as his grey eyes connected with Sportacus's blue ones, and Sportacus's mouth hung open a bit as he _also_ realized what was happening. A few more minutes of this went on before either of them let go. "I'll see you tomorrow," Sportacus called after him, a new shakiness in his voice.

"Yeah," Robbie blurted, waving without thinking before catching himself. He stopped just outside the building to catch his breath. Whatever  _that_ just was did not happen on a daily basis, he knew. What was it, anyway? It was like one second, they were shaking hands, and the next, they were holding them. He could still feel friction on his palm from where Sportacus's rough calluses had been, the warmth of his tan fingers brushing over the back. His grip was so firm, though, that most of his nerves were still tingling, if not numb. Or maybe it was just his heartbeat. Or Sportacus's. Honestly, he didn't even know anymore. Either way, like it or not, a silent but strong connection had been made, much stronger than one between a student and a professor should be. "Holy shit," he breathed, running his hands through his hair. "No!"

It couldn't be true. The cruel universe had to be playing some kind of trick on him. Sportannoying was—well, _that._  So why was he also Goddamn attractive?!

~

Robbie found himself at Pestella's Restaurant & Bar with Bobby, Tobby, and Flobby later that evening, still tormented by thoughts of his new history professor. The more he tried to push them away, the more details emerged, like the deep blue in Sportacus's eyes that made his suit seem colorless, or how he thought just for a second he could feel his fingers moving further to enclose themselves around Robbie's hand before drawing back. He subconsciously opened and closed it now, wondering if he would've done the same. _What if?_

"Hey, look who it is, our favorite people," some familiar voices greeted.

"Well, hey, likewise!" Bobby grinned, shaking their hands, and the other Rottens followed suit. "So, what brings you guys here?"

"We heard Robbo got some one-on-one time with the new professor. Had to see if it was true."

The guys from Mayhem Town Tech snickered as Robbie jerked his head around, cheeks flaring red. "How—?"

"Um, duh. Genius. We got ears _and_ a mouthpiece." They directed their heads towards three very guilty Rottens, and Robbie jerked around again.

"You told them?!"

"To be fair, we thought they were just making conversation," said Tobby, and Flobby nodded beside him.

Urghhh..." Robbie threw his hands up in the air. "Idiots! You realize they're gonna use this against me now?"

"Got that right," the guy with the purple hat said. "We've got another bet for ya, Rob, just came up with it today. Ready to lose?"

Try as he might, Robbie couldn't turn his back on—let alone not smile at—a challenge. "Gimme your worst."

The four of them placed their hands on each other's shoulders and leaned in, gathering in a conspiratorial circle of sorts.

"We bet you can't get your history professor fired from his job before the spring play."

Robbie let out a hearty laugh. "Well, gentlemen, that's a long way away from here. I'll not only have exhausted him by then but also made him never want to come back to town. Are you sure you really wanna take that chance?" He double-arched his eyebrows, taking a swig of illegal alcohol (he was nineteen since July, close enough!).

"Oh, we're sure," they said. "We never mentioned anything about him leaving out of his own free will. He has to have done something so bad your president can't wait to send his sorry ass off."

"Ooh." Robbie's voice growing deep at the pure deliciousness, "Oooh, I like it." The gears spun fast in his brain. _This_ was something he'd never done before—a whole new level of nastiness that, if pulled off, would make him the most famous man in all of academic history. It would only be a matter of time after that before he was the one sitting in the school president's office.

"So, Stefánsson, is it a deal or what?" they pushed, snapping him from his thoughts.

"I dunno, you tell me," Robbie snarked back, rolling his eyes and chuckling as he shook each of their hands. "If you lose—actually, I should say ' _when_ you lose' because I know you will, this time—the three of you have to eat a full bag of gummy bears." He was met with six wide eyes. "Problem?"

"We're surprised, is all. We really thought you'd make us your personal butlers, or something."

"Hey, I have standards," Robbie dismissed. "And besides, why would I want you loafers in my dorm, fucking around with all my stuff?"

”Look at that, he really does care about us,” the guy in the orange hat joked, and the five of them laughed. “And when you lose—“

Robbie scoffed. “Like fun I will.”

”You have to forfeit that favorite jacket of yours so we can destroy it.”

Robbie's fingers flew immediately to the red leather.  _Monstrous,_ he mouthed. Then, he cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. "Well, come on, now, I don't have all night."

”Alright, Stefánsson, we have a deal." They shook hands to make it official. "And listen, we know you've got a thing for the guy, but try not to get too attached, huh?” They laughed and winked as Robbie's face grew hot and he fumbled with his words.

”You—! I _hate_ him, you lunkheads!” But it was too late, as they had already left. At the very first sound of laughing guffaws, Robbie turned and pointed a finger. ”Not a word.”

Bobby shrugged. ”Didn’t say anything.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for making Pixel a frigid beyotch 'cause he's one of my favorites...
> 
> He'll be a bit more likable later on, though!


	3. "Mr. Stefánsson, you're trying to seduce me."

Purple notebook papers crumpled and landed in the orange trash can, one by one, until it was overflowing like a waterfall. It would make for a lovely anti-gravity sculpture to attach a plaque to and call his newest art piece if Robbie weren't preoccupied enough already. Somehow, some way, he had to find out how to get rid of that Sportaflop without being the one to get rid of him! He just didn't get it.

It wasn't like he'd been unproductive all week. He got a few people to go around calling him the "Blue Elf," a nickname he cleverly devised since the man wore so much blue and was just below average height with that ridiculous mustache that certainly looked like an elf's. ...Alright, so it was just him and his cronies, but still, progress! One time, he even made a crude drawing of Sportacus's limbs getting ripped off by ferocious reindeer on the chalkboard, and he could hear a few chuckles. ...Granted, a lot of people were just rolling their eyes and shaking their heads, but he could turn that around soon enough! 

...Ah, who was he kidding? Even if Robbie were to successfully make everyone hate Sportacus as much as he did, none of it would matter. The man would still be there, doing his job! Anyway, it was 8:20 a.m., Robbie had been up at his desk all night, he was hungry, he still had no ideas, he was hungry—and did he mention he was _starving?_

Groaning, he ran a hand down his face, grabbed a chocolate bar and coffee cup off his roommate's desk (he figured Jives would be too passed out at his friend Zoggy-or-whatever's room after a long night of partying to care), and stumbled out of his dorm towards the building where European History class was held. He arrived right as Sportacus was in the middle of a lecture about the rise of state power in the Ottonian dynasty, or some gobbledygook. 

"Mr. Stefánsson," he said, turning from the class. "Pleasure you could join us, but you're thirty minutes late."

 _Oh, great. A stickler for time, just like his mummy,_ Robbie grunted.  _How pwecious._

“Well, you're still new here, so I guess I'll spare you the whole long spiel," he said, yawning. "But first thing you should know about me is that I don’t do schedules. I arrive on my own time, whether you like it or not. You'll be lucky I even show up at all if your lectures aren't half-boring me to death... are you even listening? Hey! Sportadunce!" Robbie snapped his fingers in front of his face, which had gone blank. "Eyes up here!”

Sportacus's head snapped back up, and for a second, all he did was stand there before looking back at the rest of the class, gulping, and saying, “Okay. Go sit down and check with a neighbor for the latest reading assignment. We’ll talk about this later.” 

Robbie gloated in Stephanie and Pixel's faces, which were a combination of anger and shock at him not getting a more severe punishment, obviously. Come to think of it, he was usually kicked back out of classrooms and marked absent for the day or, if it were Haninn, yelled at for ten whole minutes in-between hairball coughs. As he pointedly avoided asking the person nearest to him what the assignment was—because really, he could give less of a shit—he wondered what could've been going through Sportacus's mind just then. 

It wasn't as if Robbie were wearing anything special: just his red t-shirt, short shorts, a pair of black knee socks with small white stripes on them, and dress shoes. These were his thinking clothes, much more comfortable than his leather jacket and skinny jeans, though even he had to admit there was a reason he didn't wear 'em much in public, in that they drew a lot of attention to... _certain_ areas, namely where Sportacus had been looking down and  _ohmyfuck._

At the exact same time as Robbie's realization, he saw Sportacus's eyes land on him and, so quick not everyone would be able to see it, his lower lip disappearing beneath his upper one and popping back out again. Then, he looked away, clearing his throat. After recovering from the initial shock, Robbie nearly doubled over. This was priceless! Somehow, he actually managed to turn on his history professor!

His face scrunched up in silent thought. Oh, this was a Goddamn dream come true. Almost too perfect! As if to test his little theory, he reached for Poodle's water bottle. 

"The Ottonian dynasty, at this time, became so successful they began to have a 'renaissance' of their own."

"Mmm."

"You can see this especially in the artwork and architecture that accompanied the reigns of the first three emperors. Of course, that's not to say the Byzantine Empire didn't have some part as well—"

"Mmm, it's hot in here. I'm _soooo_ thirsty," Robbie called, effectively stopping the lesson. He leaned his head back, giving Sportacus a nice view of his neck as he drank and avoiding what's-his-face's protests of "Hey, that's my water bottle!" Then, he unscrewed the cap a little so some of it would drip down his face. "Oh, now my shirt's all wet. I'll have to dry it later." He placed his hands on his chest and rubbed it with special emphasis on his nipple area, even lifting his shirt a bit to wipe the water off himself. Robbie peeped up at Sportacus's face. It was pink, but he was just drinking this in, he knew it. Now for the finishing touch.

"Sportacus," he moaned, fingers gripping at the edge of the desk, chest rising up and down. "Oh fuck, Sportacus, I'm gonna—!" He threw his head back, closing his eyes. "SportaaAHH—choo," he finished very cutely, and the whole class was in stitches. He looked up to see, much to his delight, his history professor shaking, red to the roots of his hair and covered in sweat. Robbie shrugged. "Oops, sorry. I was just trying to tell you I had to sneeze."

And Sportacus did not speak that time but instead just folded his arms and gave him a look that read,  _Oh, you are definitely staying after class._

It wasn't long before it ended, and as soon as the last person walked out, Robbie sauntered over, a grin on his face. “You wanted to see me, pro-fes-sor?” He drew out each syllable carefully as his fingers walked along the edge of the front desk.

Sportacus huffed. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking maybe your pen ran out of things to write on.” Robbie swept off a bunch of papers and books and hopped on top, leaning back, sliding off one shoe with his socked foot. “Maybe you should try _me.”_

 _Oh, wow,_ he thought he could see him mouth before he frowned again. “I could’ve been fired!”

“But it would be so worth it, wouldn’t it? Putting your hands all over this?” Sportacus did not answer him that time, either, and Robbie hummed, picking up some of the other school supplies and tossing them off the desk, one by one.

"Look, I brought my pencil. Now all I need is a tight hole to sharpen it." 

"Ooh, a binder. Too bad it can't bind my wrists and let you do whatever you want with me, right?"

"You don't need a ruler for me to rule _you,_ baby."

"I'll bet you wish you could lick other places besides those envelope seals."

The corners of Sportacus's eyes lifted up, and he leaned forward until he was staring down into the face of his pupil. “Why, Mr. Stefánsson, you’re trying to seduce me. Aren’t you?”

Robbie tried not to think too hard about how dangerously low his voice was, how close they were to touching, focusing instead on keeping his cool. “Oh, so you watched that movie too,” he mused. “I must admit, you are one smart cookie. Won’t you gimme a gold star on my performance?” 

At which point, Sportacus burst into laughter. “Seriously, you’re killing me,” he gasped. “You should join a comedy troupe, or the spring play, or something. _Anything._ You’re quite the actor.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake," Robbie grumbled, propping up on his elbows. "I’m lying across your desk and dirty-talking to you, wearing skin tight clothing! You should be drooling over me!” He gestured madly at himself as Sportacus continued laughing.

“Sorry, Mr. Stefánsson," he finally relented, wiping away an amused tear. "I love my job far too much. As fun as this was, I'm afraid if it happens again, I'll have to relay this to the administration.”

Robbie's face fell. "Oh. Okay." He was silent for once, agreeable, even, as he slowly slid off the front desk and walked over to his own to get his backpack and history textbook. On his way out, he stopped and picked up the supplies spilled all over the floor, placing them back where they belonged. He could feel Sportacus watching him the whole time. “It’s too bad, you know. We could’ve had some fun together.” Then, he walked out with a sombre expression, making sure to avoid looking back and swing his hips with each step. The corners of his mouth twitched up knowingly at the sound of a low whistle. He had this bet in the _bag._

~

Robbie had just finished explaining exactly why this was, yet Bobby and Flobby stared blearily back, and Tobby let out a loud yawn. His hands flew to his hips.

"Oh, come on! Were you even listening?" 

"Robbie, it's early. We haven't had our caffeine yet," said Bobby.

"What do you mean? In case you haven't noticed, we work in a coffee shop, you morons!" And he gestured emphatically to the nearby espresso machine and green pinstripe aprons the four of them wore to prove his point.

"Hey, yeah. Can't believe we hadn't thought of that," said Tobby, yawning again. "Boy, Robbie, I think I'll have what you're having. I could really use some of that extra energy you've got today."

"I didn't drink any coffee," Robbie gritted. "I was energized purely by my hatred for the Blue Elf and the ecstasy of being _this close_ to firing him, which the three of you apparently don't seem to care about. _Flobby,"_ he spun around at the sound of a camera, "what did I repeatedly tell you about taking pictures without me knowing? I'm not your fucking art exhibit!"

Flobby only smiled, gave him a thumbs up, and took another picture, causing him to turn back around. "Gah!" Three voices laughed behind him, and Robbie's frown deepened. "I change my mind. I need a cup of coffee right now, and some whiskey to go with it." 

"Aw, you know you love us," said Tobby, moving in for another hug. Luckily, the door opened, preventing utter mushiness from happening, but the three Rottens suddenly seemed to sprout grins that covered half their faces. "What?" Robbie demanded. He followed their eyesight to the approaching blue beanie and hateful mustached smile beneath it, feeling his shoulders go limp. "You're shitting me."

What followed was a scrambled attempt to hide behind his three cronies while they grinned and moved around. “What the fuck are you doing? Hide me!” he whisper-hissed, but either they didn't hear him again, or they didn't care, because they shoved Robbie to the forefront of the countertop where he was met with the same blue eyes that haunted him since that _weird_ day. "I, uh... h–how may I help you?" he stammered, ears glowing red at the snickering behind him. As soon as this shift was over, they were _dead._

Sportacus surveyed the menu. "Hmm, let's see. Ah!" His face brightened. "May I have the strawberry raspberry protein blend, please?" Robbie didn't know which was worse: that Sportacus asked for a smoothie in a Goddamn coffee shop, or that his cronies were never going to let him live it down for making Sportacus a smoothie in a Goddamn coffee shop.

"How is this guy so handsome, and yet so stupid at the same time?" he growled to himself at the blender. It was bad enough looking like an idiot compared to yesterday's heavy flirting session. The only reason he'd felt so confident was that he was wearing those clothes, which, in effect, had made him a different person. Now that he was only himself, it was... well, awkward. He could almost feel Sportacus silently judging him as he bumbled behind the counter, dropping coffee bags on the floor and forgetting where everything was. As if things couldn't get any worse, he tripped on the way to the cash register and nearly fell forward when he felt a pair of warm hands clutch his upper arms.

"Woah, you okay?"

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry! Here you go," he said, handing Sportacus his drink without looking up. The whole shop was erupting with laughter at this point, and Robbie never wanted to dig a deep, dark hole to hide in more than he did now.

"No worries, Mr. Stefánsson," Sportacus chuckled. He handed Robbie some cash and took a sip before his eyes widened.

Robbie folded his arms. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

"This is really good!"

"...Really?"

"Yeah, this is amazing!" He tossed the cup in his hand. "I think I might have to visit this little shop more often."

 _No no no,_ Robbie mouthed, but the other Rottens jumped all over the opportunity.

"Our menu changes every month, with 20% off on Saturdays," said Bobby.

"Yeah, plus the more you come here, the higher chance you have of getting a loyalty card," said Tobby. Flobby just gave two thumbs up and grinned widely.

"Wow, this is great," Sportacus smiled. "And with Mr. Stefánsson here to make the smoothies, I know I'll be starting every other morning off right!"

"Not if I happen to conveniently run out of ingredients, Sportaloon!" Robbie called after him, but that was long after he had already waved goodbye and bounded out the door.

"Looks like maybe those guys from MT Tech were right," Bobby chuckled.

"Wh— they are not!" he protested. There was a funny feeling growing in his chest from seeing his professor smile and being complimented by him, and he hated it. He would not enjoy making smoothies for this man. He wouldn't! He didn't know why his body was trying to tell him otherwise.

~

When Robbie returned to his room later that evening, he stuffed his apron back in his and Jives' shared closet and counted the amount he'd made in tips. _$9.25..._ pathetic. Well, it would have to do. He dialed a number on his cell phone and waited until he heard crackling on the other side.

"Honey?"

"Hey, Dad."

"This better not be about dropping out, again—I've already told you that's _not_ an option," Glanni's voice cut through. Somewhere in the background, Robbie could hear water splashing.

"A-Are you taking a bath?"

"You could say that..." he trailed off, and a woman's voice that Robbie did not recognize giggled.

"Again? Seriously?" He groaned. "Ugh, whatever. I'm just calling to say I've made some extra money and am putting it in the mail tomorrow."

"Oh, sugar dumpling, no. You should be using that to buy yourself a new leather jacket, or—"

"Nope. I'm sending it, and that's final. You don't have a choice." Their exchanges usually went something like this, with Glanni accepting the money in the end. What else was he going to do? It was hard enough making ends meet since Robbie's lawyer mother kicked their ass in court  _and_  ran off with the judge. Luckily, she hadn't won custodial rights, though it was obviously because she wanted nothing to do with her son in the first place.

Sure enough, Glanni gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, alright, I guess I could use some more eyeliner.”

"Yeah, and a pack of condoms while you're at it."

"Haha. Ye of little faith. I haven't messed up yet!"

"Don't worry, you will. And I definitely won't be driving you to the hospital when it happens." The two of them shared a laugh, and Robbie sighed. "Dad, honestly. I miss it there. I'm gonna come back and work for you again this summer."

"No you're not," Glanni said, voice growing stern again. "You're not gonna grow up to be a scumbag like me, not on my watch."

"Daddy, you're not—" he began, though he knew it was useless to argue once he'd made up his mind. "At least let me, Bobby, Tobby, and Flobby sleep over, sometime?"

"Gumdrop, you promised me you'd meet more people this year."

Robbie could hear the pouting in his voice, it drove him nuts. "Dad, come on, nobody wants to be friends with me."

"What? Ridiculous! You're _my_ son, people should be climbing walls to meet you," Glanni dismissed, then paused for a moment. "Well, alright. I guess you're special in other ways, too."

Robbie chuckled. "Really, I don't need anyone else. Most of the time, I'm busy thinking up ways to get rid of the Blue Elf."

"Who?"

He waved it off. "Ah, nobody, just some loser who's standing in for Old Rooster."

"They finally got rid of Salmonella? It's about damn time!"

The two of them snickered, admiring one-another's nicknames. Of course Glanni, the only dad—never mind _man_ —sporting a faux leather jumpsuit and dramatic pink coat, would hate ugly old Haninn and his tweed suits as soon as he set eyes on him at Orientation Day. "Oh, that's so great, I'm glad to hear it."

"Stefán~" the woman's voice called.

"I told you not to call me that!" Glanni snapped to her, and she whimpered and splashed at him. "Sweet Jesus, I've gotta go. In the meantime, you keep talking to this person, whoever he or she is. I can't throw a summer party for just four people."

"Dad?"

"Ah-ah! No buts! Goodbye, dear~!" He blew a kiss, and the line went dead.

Robbie shook his head and smiled. "I was just going to say 'I love you,' you blithering buffoon."

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not seen The Graduate, but now I am tempted.
> 
> Also aww, Robbie has a soft spot for his dad. <3 But you all knew that, heehee


	4. “Everyone, Robbie’s going to be part of our study group.”

Sometimes, if Robbie didn't know any better, he would swear that Sportaloon was spying on him. It would explain why he suddenly seemed to show up unannounced everywhere he went!

Just last week, Robbie was in the theater, which was empty since no one was practicing for the stupid spring play. He used this opportunity to get his saxophone from its case and play it, singing a few songs he knew, most of them just dumb things he'd made up and memorized off the top of his head. Sportacus was standing right behind him onstage when he turned around and startled. "Agh! Do you mind?" he demanded, and stomped out.

Another time, Robbie was sitting in the quad, sewing the finishing touches to a pink fairy dress he designed. As much as he didn't like Pinky, he had to admit her fashion sense was inspirational fodder to his work. His sketchbook sat wide open next to him, with lifelike watercolor renderings of the dress that took up two pages. He turned his head to see Sportacus flipping through it, gave a short yell, and fell off the bench. "You've got to stop _doing_ that!" He snatched the sketchbook back and took off.

Yet another time, he was performing a clockwork trick for his cronies, a very stoned Jives, and a very skeptical Trixie with a deck of cards, manipulating the movement before their eyes. As they oohed and ahhed, Robbie spied Sportacus looking at him again and threw his hands in the air. "Jesus, I give up!" This, of course, caused the cards to spill on the ground, and he collected them all, fuming, before stomping off somewhere else.

Anyhow, it was getting ridiculous, and Robbie was losing his patience—well, okay, he lost that a while ago, what he was really losing was the impulse control that keeps human beings from flat out _killing_ each other. 

"Come on. You don't really think he showed up all those times on purpose?" Bobby reasoned, lighting his cigarette in the parking lot.

"I don't know anything anymore. For all I know, this could just be his way of getting back at me with some long, elaborate prank—fucking gimme that." He took the cigarette out of Bobby's protesting mouth and sucked in, feeling his lungs grow black and burnt, just the way he liked it. "Ah."

"Well, it doesn't seem like him to do something like that," Tobby said, combing Robbie's hair, and Flobby nodded, smoothing out the front with gel.

Robbie rolled his eyes. "That's because it's what he _wants_ you to believe. Everyone here thinks he's _so_ sweet, but I know what a rat he really is." The two hairstylists gave him a handheld mirror so he could survey his 'do. _Haw, perfect!,_ he mouthed, and blew a kiss at his reflection before something in the corner caught his eye. "Okay, that is _it!_ This ends now!" Next thing he knew, the mirror was sailing across the parking lot, the three other Rottens were scrambling to catch it, and Robbie was stomping towards his target of interest in what could best be described as a "floss walk."

Once he got there, he demanded, "Do you have a problem with me, Spytacus?! Or, should I say, Sporta _-espionage?"_

"'Sporta-esp'... what are you talking about?"

"Don't act cute with me!" he spat, barely noticing the blush that dusted the other's cheeks. "I know you think you've earned the right to stalk me, or whatever, since you saw me at the coffee shop, but I assure you, it's not flattering in the least—what the heck are you doing to your vehicle?" he demanded, getting off topic, but honestly, it was ridiculous! He'd never seen anyone physically man-handle a silver motorcycle like Sportacus right then.

"Oh, that," he smiled. "I've been trying to start it up for half an hour and it's not going anywhere, so I'm trying to kick it, I guess?"

Robbie dragged his fingers down his face. "Come on, this is _baby_ stuff for crying—ugh, let me show you." He lightly nudged him out of the way with his shoulder and tied his jacket around his waist, leaving him in just his purple undershirt. Then he closed the wire hatch and jiggled the ignition and kill switch. He grunted in approval when he heard the engine rev but not start. "A smart-ass, eh," he mumbled to himself, kneeling on the ground to check the spark plugs. "Aha!" They were worn and oily, a sure sign they were a contributor to the main problem. He struck a match he normally reserved for cigarettes and held it beneath the electrode, nearly burning his fingers when he looked up. “What? Why are you staring?”

“I’m intrigued by you, Mr. Stefánsson," Sportacus replied, a growing thoughtfulness in his voice. "You seem so talented and intelligent in so many ways, and yet you don’t try in class. Why is that?”

Robbie grunted. "Let's just say school is not for me, and that's all you need to know." He turned back to his work, pressing his thumb over the empty plug hole to gauge for pressure. That looked good, so he screwed the plug back in and worked through the electrical system to check for shorts.

Meanwhile, Sportacus kept jabbering on at him. "But you have to be here for a reason. Imagine all the people who need help with a cooking project or designing an art exhibit or organizing a musical performance or talent show, and you come swooping in to save the day! Deep down, you know you could put these skills to good use rather than show up every day having thought of some new way of getting in trouble."

"Okay, so maybe I do want your attention. So what?" Robbie snapped, flinching as the wires shocked him a bit. "Everyone else is always raising their hand in that dumb class anyway. How would I even register to you if I was the only one who didn't?"

"But Robert—"

He groaned at the ugly, formal name his mother had given him. "Fuck, _please_ call me Robbie."

"Sorry. Robbie," Sportacus began again, "I'm just trying to understand. I heard Professor Haninn failed you on your last essay."

 _"Don't_ remind me."

“Well, but I went back and reread it, and after seeing what 'errors' he was referring to, I decided all you really need is another chance."

"Aw, he believes in me," Robbie mock-cooed, a dramatic hand over his heart. "That's a big mistake you're making, pal."

"I don't think it is," Sportacus said, chuckling. "You're so smart, Robbie. I want to see more of it in class."

"Yeah, well, dyslexia _and_ Tourette's isn't exactly an easy combination to work with. You'll grow tired of me soon enough."

"I never grow tired of a challenge, Robbie," Sportacus said, and Christ, were his eyes _sparkling_  just then? But Robbie had no time to contemplate their other-worldly nature, for the plug made a big blue spark of its own upon switching on the motorcycle and giving it a crank.

He just barely resisted the urge to cheer out loud and do a cha-cha dance, instead settling for clearing his throat and adjusting his shirt. "Yes, well. I knew that would happen."

"Great work, Robbie!" Sportacus grinned, jumping up and down and running laps around his vehicle, he was so excited. "Wow," he breathed after, looking from the handlebars back to him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to do some errands with me before I go back to my penthouse, would you?"

“I thought professors and students weren’t supposed to interact on a personal level,” Robbie sneered, getting on anyway, and Sportacus laughed and handed him a helmet.

“No, that’s just inside of school. Outside, we can be friends.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the most intimidating guy in LazyTown. Nobody wants to be friends with me _eeeee!”_ He screamed as Sportacus started up the motorbike and left the parking lot fast enough for Robbie's vision to tunnel. "Slow down!" he called above the wind rushing in his ears, but, of course, the stupid Blue Elf was too busy cheering to hear him. He grabbed onto Sportacus's waist and buried his forehead into his back in an attempt to keep his skin from flying off.

"Are you okay?" Sportacus asked when they reached a red light, and he only replied with a breathless whine. He laughed. "It's okay, we'll be there soon." The light turned green again, and Robbie clung on for his life, puffing out his cheeks to keep from vomiting.

Finally, at the side of the road and in front of a small flower shop, Sportacus shifted into park. "That was fun! Thank you for coming with me, Robbie."

"Whatever. Just try not to kill me next time," Robbie said, not noticing until his face was beet red and Sportacus was giggling.

The florist threw open the door and welcomed them without hesitation. Robbie guessed not a lot of people stopped by this area. Come to think of it, there weren't many people he knew who included 'buying flowers' as a part of their errands—mostly just laundry and groceries, regular day-to-day stuff. As a hobbyist gardener himself, the thought of Sportacus covering his entire apartment with flower bouquets he bought at this shop and watering them every morning tugged at his heartstrings a little. _Stupid elf._

Soon, they were wandering through the greenhouse, past the loaded shelves and hanging topiaries. "Do you... have anything in mind?" Robbie asked, rubbing his arm. _Stop being so nervous!_

"Hmm—maybe. I'll get some ideas."

"Yes, you do that," he nodded. While Sportacus looked around and stuck his nose in some plants, Robbie's feet gravitated towards the sunflowers, which he wouldn't let anyone know he secretly liked to pluck the petals from. The lupines caught his eye next. God, he hadn't seen _those_ in the wild in forever. A lot of them were his favorite colors: maroon, purple, orange, gold, and dark blue. He leaned in, sniffing a bit of their familiar candy-sweetness before stepping back a little when he heard footsteps walk up to him.

"I see you also like the lupines. That's my favorite flower, you know," Sportacus chuckled.

"They, um... remind me of home," Robbie said, then shook his head. Stupid. Why was he opening up to him?!

"That's sweet," Sportacus smiled. "I mostly like them because it's one of the few flowers my boyfriend isn't allergic to." A pit grew in Robbie's stomach at that for some dumb reason, and he tried to disregard it while Sportacus began shelling out his wallet. "Would you like some for your room?" 

"Oh, no you don't! Put that thing away! This is the perfect opportunity for you to use this against me," he scolded, taking the offending object out of Sportacus's hands and shoving it back in his coat pocket. 

The mustached man laughed. "Robbie, where did you ever get the idea that I'm somehow against you?"

 _"I_ don't know! Why else would you _happen_ to be in the auditorium, hoping to collect more dirt on me to put on my academic record?"

Sportacus gave him a look. "I was helping my mom clean up the stage for play practice."

"What about the quad? The parking lot? The... the _whatever?"_

"Robbie, those are places where I walk on my way to and from work, just like everyone else at this school," Sportacus laughed.

Robbie looked down at the ground, heat quickly rising to his cheeks. "So... it really was all just a coincidence?" he stammered.

The other nodded. "I saw your sketchbook getting some grass on the pages and wanted to tell you about it, but you looked busy, so I went to close it. You're right about that. I shouldn't have looked through it, and I'm sorry. But for the record, you are a very good artist."

 _Well, of course I am!,_ along with a lift of his chin would be Robbie's usual reply, but somehow, he was feeling a little too pink and shy today to go through with it. It could be something to do with Sportacus standing right in front of him with a handful of lupines, beaming up at him with those large white teeth and charming crow's feet around his eyes. If he were a flower, he'd be one of those little peonies hiding in the corner. "By the way, I thought of someone who could tutor you with your reading and writing on the way here. You know Stephanie from your history class, right?"

 _Aaaaaannd_ just like that, the moment was over.

~

Don't get him wrong. Pinky wasn't one of those mean girls who were _usually_ rich presidents' nieces. She was the school cheer captain/valedictorian who was always signing up for the latest community service project and open mic night, plus she was a Pride Club ally, so there was certainly no problem there. He would just generally prefer if his tutor... _wasn't_ her. 

"I'm doing this for Sportacus. Not you," she told him several times as they walked. He couldn't help but detect a bit of lovestruck sigh in her voice at the mention of the former.

 _Oh, honey, if only you knew,_ he snickered. If he didn’t think Glanni would kill him for getting expelled, he would gladly tell her who her professor _really_ kept making eye contact with and having to pull down his jacket during class for. The look on her face would be a nice distraction from the fact they were going to the library, of all places, which meant books and more books. Eugh.

"Look, is this gonna be long? Because the auditorium is empty again, and my Rottens and I have some smoking to do." She gave him a look so intense her pink fringe seemed to turn red for a second. "Woah, okay, I'll shut up now! Sheesh," he breathed, looking away and rubbing his arm. He'd think he heard her giggle if he didn't know any better.

The library door opened automatically, and they kept walking until they approached a couple of comfy chairs by one of the windows. Each of these chairs was accompanied by a more-or-less familiar face: Poodle, who had his eyes glued to a computer screen and lips pasted to his coffee mug, Jives and Zoggy, who were collaborating on some comic book project over a bowl of cheese snacks, Sticky, whose fingers were working quickly on calculator keys while he made some very obvious eyes at Jives, and Tricky, who had her nose stuck in some James Joyce novel. Pink Girl cleared her throat, and they all looked up.

“Everyone, Robbie’s going to be part of our study group.”

"What?"

"No way!"

"Oh, hell no, he'll kill us!"

“Got that right,” Robbie snarled, taking a stride forward, but Stephanie stepped between them with her arms crossed.

“Nobody’s going to be killing  _anybody.”_

Everyone, including Robbie, let out a groan or muffled "Fine" and conceded. Robbie really hated to admit it, but sometimes, he was damn _scared_ of Stephanie. He knew he was almost a foot taller, but she had twice the muscle and could beat him up if she so wanted. His listening to her was just a defense strategy from such a disaster, and not the least bit out of respect or shared fashion aesthetics (seriously, was she wearing a scarf with her studded varsity jacket? Adorable! He would love to bring this up if he weren't so timi— _afraid of her)._

"In all seriousness, though, why _is_ he here?" Sticky said, raising an eyebrow.

Robbie frowned. "That's none of your business, Sticky."

_"Stingy."_

"Whatever."

Stephanie rolled her eyes at the exchange before smiling at Robbie. "Have a seat!" She gestured at one of the empty chairs, and he hobbled over, fearing what would happen if he didn't. She took out a little pink binder from her backpack. "So, from what I hear, you're really good at explaining your thoughts aloud, but we need to get you writing them in clear and organized papers, right?"

"Uh..." He found himself feeling unsettled by her too-friendly smile for a minute before he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Right."

"Good," she almost sang. "I have a copy of your European History essay, so we can start going over it together."

Robbie jumped up and stood on his chair. "Where did you get that?!"

"Um, Sportacus gave it to me?" she chuckled. 

"The great Robbie Rotten actually wrote an essay and handed it in? That oughtta be good!" Trixie laughed.

"I'll bet you don't even care about fixing it. You'll probably just hand the same draft back, like always," Poodle agreed. At the sound of roaring laughter around him, Robbie's ears grew burnt red.

"Know what? You're absolutely right, all of you! This is stupid!" He got down from his chair and stormed away, hiding his face so they wouldn't see what was stinging his eyes. He didn't even flip over the desk or sweep any of their belongings off in true Rotten fashion! God, he was weak. All he wanted now was to go home, go to bed, and never show his face in European History class again. This would have been a solid plan, too, were it not for the small hand that found its way to his arm.

"Wait, Robbie!"

He turned around, flabbergasted to see Pink Girl. "What do you want?"

She smiled uneasily. "We still have fifty-five minutes of your tutoring session left."

Robbie huffed. "Why do you care? Like you said, you’re only doing this for Sportacus.”

 _"No._ Look," she pressed, "it's not true, okay? As your peer mentor, I genuinely want you to succeed. I'm really sorry, Robbie, I thought you knew I was joking." Of course he did. Of course he knew she was a nice, pure soul with a snarky sense of humor. Why else would anyone volunteer for that much community service? He wanted to kick himself for being so sensitive. "So will you please stick around? We have cookies~"

He rolled his eyes, smiling. "Alright. D-Do you have chocolate chip?" 

"Yep! Ziggy brought frosting from his dad's bakery, too, he had a feeling you might want some," she said, leading them both back towards the group. "I like your jacket, by the way!"

"Um. Thank you," he almost whispered. Hanging, apologetic heads greeted him upon arrival, and Ziggy held out a cookie plate and can of frosting. He pushed past everyone and mimed taking the whole plate for himself, and they started laughing and shaking their heads. Robbie swallowed his nerves and laughed right back. He'd been Robbie Rotten for so long he sometimes forgot how to be just Robbie. But with people like Sportacus and Stephanie around, maybe he could start to figure out exactly what that was all about.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Stephanie gave them all a swift talking-to. ^_^
> 
> Also, who is Sportacus's mysterious boyfriend? We'll find out next!


	5. “I like your jeans. They’re snug…in ALL the right places.”

A couple mornings later, Robbie walked out of the cafeteria. It was Casual Friday, as self-proclaimed by him, and so he let himself and his Rottens wear whatever they wanted, provided they still looked good, of course. He took a sip of his Oreo milkshake, wearing a red crop top he designed with the words "ROTTEN TO THE" sewn in bold above a stylized apple core and some black high waist skinny jeans. Not long after, Stephanie caught up with him in her pink polka dot dress and cowgirl boots.

"I have a fashion crush on you."

He grinned. "Sorry, you can't raid my closet."

"What? But you take my clothes all the time."

"I can't help that hats and floral prints look marvelous on me."

"Just saying, I could definitely pull off one of your blazers."

"Pff, no, you'll drown in those. You'd be better off with one of my vests."

The two of them continued their friendly argument all the way until they got to the theater and sat next to each other, watching as the dramatic events of play practice unfolded before them. As usual, everyone was screwing up their lines, none of the costumes looked right, and Dean Busybody and Stingy were hugely disappointed with everybody, especially those two clowns, what-were-their-names. 

"William! You're a royal, not a mountain man from Missouri! Stop that hillbilly impersonation at once!" Dean Busybody told him. Meanwhile, Ken babbled onstage like a moron.

"It is... um... um... the, um... duh, I forgot."

"Ooh, you knucklehead!" Stingy groaned, face-palming himself.

"Now, now, Stuart. It would be best for you to leave this to the professionals," Dean Busybody coaxed before spinning on her heel, shouting, _"Ken,_ you knucklehead! We've been _over_ this!" A very scared-looking Ken ran behind the curtain to get his script while Stephanie and Robbie chuckled. 

"Think they'll ever pull it together?" she asked him.

"What, without _me_ in the lead? Of course not."

Stephanie shook her head, though she was still smiling. Then it faded slightly when she said, "Well, I hope they do."

Robbie grew quiet at that. He knew LazyTown Community College was small, but it wasn't until Pink Girl told him it was going through financial troubles that he found out just how _tiny_ it was. The board depended on this charity performance to squeeze them through at least one more year. Any screw-ups, and it would be curtains for everyone (pun intended). He opened his mouth, wanting to say _something_ because he was sort of her friend now and thought he should, when Sportacus did a series of backflips across the stage.

"Good morning, guys!"

"Hi, Sportacus~!" everyone chorused, and he chuckled, waving at them.

"Now, remember. Just like you planned, okay?" Stephanie told Robbie. He nodded, and she clapped him on the shoulder once before saying out loud, "See you tomorrow, Sportacus!"

"Alright, goodbye, Stephanie," he said, then made his way over to the chairs and sat next to Robbie. "Hi! You have something for me?"

"More or less," Robbie mumbled. He fished out a pile of papers from his backpack. "Stephanie had me up all night writing this, so you'd better pass it." Sportacus took it from him, an amused expression on his face, though it slowly melted off when he read it. His eyes scanned the pages, growing wider with each line. Robbie picked at his fingernails. God, he didn’t even know why he bothered telling Stephanie he might pass out if he had to hand this in at class when he was sure now he would've been anxious either way. Finally, Sportacus put them down.

"Robbie... this is..." A big, goofy smile grew on his face. "A huge improvement!" He was so full of energy he just had to do several full cartwheels around the room as he kept blabbering on about his paper. "...Lack of spelling mistakes compared to earlier... everything is in paragraphs now... was easier to read your ideas... so proud... knew you both could... wow, I have great students!"

He came back after, winded, and Robbie looked at him. "Are you done?"

"Sorry," Sportacus laughed. "I know I got carried away, it's just great to see you do well. Congratulations, Robbie. You get a 79."

"Really? I-I've never gotten anything above a 'C' before. I didn't really think I could," Robbie stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. Next thing he knew, he felt a pair of strong hands on his shoulders.

"Of course you can, you're Robbie Stefánsson. You can do anything." He was looking into his eyes as he said this and giving him that same grin all over again, the air semi-silent around them. Only a week ago, they were doing this at the flower shop, though something was newly added. Or maybe Robbie just noticed. He looked down at his lips, eyes starting to close.

"Sportacus, I—"

Before either of them could even register what was happening, Sportacus's phone vibrated. He turned from Robbie, giving him a 'one minute' gesture, and picked it up. "Hello? Oh, hey, darling! No, this isn't a bad time. Yes, a reservation for six-thirty would be perfect." 

Robbie's face, meanwhile, was burning. _I just almost lost the bet, big time! What is wrong with me?!_

~

He ruminated over it later that afternoon as he was on his way to Stingy's mansion, which should have been exciting for him since he was invited to a Christmas party—or any sort of party—for the first time ever, but he couldn't help it! All he could think about was how close the two of them were, how he could have wrapped an arm around his waist to bring them together or stroked his soft-looking hair with one hand, and then dialed the president's number in the other. He was supposed to smoke him out, not do... whatever the heck he thought he was doing back there!

 _Focus, Robbie, focus,_  he groaned to himself. God, why him? Why them? Why anything? Why—

"Oof!" He bumped his nose on the front of Stingy's door and rubbed it. "Ouch..." He pulled on the handle and knocked. Stingy opened the door and leaned against the frame.

"Oh, hey, it's you." He adjusted his blue pullover and the tiara in his hair and nodded approvingly. “I like your jeans. They’re snug… in _all_ the right places.”

“Back off, you little freak, before I snap your tiny neck like a pencil,” Robbie replied.

Stingy shivered. “Whoo, _scary!_ I like that.” Then, he winked and walked away while Robbie shook his head and kind of smiled.

For a party taking place eight days before Christmas, it sure felt like the real day. The speakers were blasting some of that wintry jazz and R&B one might normally hear around the holidays, and hats and stockings and ornaments decorated the rooms and people as far as Robbie's eyes could see. There was also, of course, the giant light-covered tree in the backyard with a large skating pond, and smells of cookies, chocolate, peppermint, and fruity, spicy cakes filled the air.

As amazing as it all was, he could feel himself getting a little overwhelmed, so he sought a quieter corner. Pixel seemed to have the right idea, and he went over to him.

"What's up, Robbie?" They performed their secret handshake they’d made up over the weekend after intensive hours spent studying together. Robbie wouldn't have known Pixel could be a pretty chill guy if he hadn't seen him outside of class, but then again, he also knew what it was to put up a front so he wouldn't be ignored. "Some party, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "Hey, what's going on, P, you're looking at the ground instead of at me. And I put a lot of effort into sewing this Christmas sweater I'm wearing, so you should be admiring the detail."

Pixel chuckled, then shrugged. "It's not been my day, I guess."

"Not your day? But you got the highest grade on the math exam today! I've never seen Obtuse look more surprised."

"Ah, it's not that, it's..." His gloved hand shifted enough for Robbie to peep at the thing he was holding behind his back. _A pink teddy bear._  Pixel must have noticed because he continued, "I want to talk to Stephanie, but she keeps running off with her group of cheerleading friends. It's been two hours, and I don't know if I should just wait till she's done talking to them, or what."

The techno geek let out an agitated sigh, and Robbie wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Can I tell you something, man to man?"

"Yeah, shoot."

"She's hanging out with her friends because she wants you to make the first move."

A thoughtful frown crossed Pixel's face, then puzzled. "Wait, how do you know?"

"Pfff, look at them! I haven't been here that long, and I can already tell they're bad at keeping secrets." He gestured over to the girls, who, sure enough, were engaged in lots of 'hush-hush' whispering and giggling upon seeing Pixel. "Besides, she's always laughing at your jokes and asking you about your techno-shit."

"I guess she is, isn't she?" Pixel grinned, not even bothering to correct 'techno-shit' to 'technological gadgets' like he normally would. "You know what, I'm gonna go up to her right now! Thanks, Robbie!"

"Whatever! Make sure you buy my brilliant book on relationship advice when it comes out," Robbie called after him, though it was friendly in tone. He smiled and surveyed the refreshment table, humming a few bars of "Master of Disguise," one of the songs he'd made up in his head.

"Robbie? Is that you?" a familiar voice asked.

He yelped and hid his face behind his hands before looking back over them, narrowing his eyes. "Don't be starting that back up again!"

Sportacus laughed and adjusted the tie on his suspiciously-nice suit.

"So, what the hell are you doing here? Since you're not here to stalk me, I mean," Robbie continued, tracing the rim of an eggnog glass with his finger.

"Well, my boyfriend and I decided we had time to spare before dinner to come to Mr. Spoilero's Christmas party since he kindly invited us." His cheeks flushed bright red. "He keeps insisting I've been a positive role model for his son. It's really nothing, though."

"Awwww, _mi amor,_ you underestimate yourself!" Next thing either of them knew, Sportacus was swept into the huskily-built arms of a stranger Robbie had never seen before and kissed all over his face. He laughed and returned a few kisses of his own before standing back, placing a hand on the other's chest.

"Robbie, this is my boyfriend, Pablo Fantastico."

If there was ever a time to wonder if the sound of one's jaw dropping to the floor could be loud enough to shatter the Decibel scale, it would be now.

"T-The Chef Pablo Fantastico... the-the owner of the entire fucking Mediterráneo restaurant chain... wow," he stammered, reaching weakly for a glass of water.

The blue eyes of the other widened as he seemed to realize something. _"Roberto!"_  

"W-Wha-What's happening?"

But Pablo didn't answer, instead lifting him in his arms as well and planting a big, wet smooch on each cheek. "Awww, Alex told me all about his students. He couldn't be any happier with his new position, and it's all thanks to you!"

"I'm so glad," Robbie wheezed, feeling the oxygen empty from his brain.

"Pablo, I've told you, you can call me 'Sportacus'," the other laughed a little nervously. "Also, my student is turning blue."

"Oh! So sorry," Pablo let go immediately and brushed off Robbie's sweater. Then, he smiled and tweaked his thick mustache. “Help yourselves to some hors d'oeuvres on the red plate. I've cooked for you both with passion and love!” He blew a kiss at the last part and sped off elsewhere. Sportacus turned to Robbie.

"I'm sorry, he can be a little touchy-feely."

"No kidding," he choked, taking his hand away from his throat to at least try and talk normally. “So, does Mr. Boyardee like cooking things up in the bedroom, too?”

“Robbie,” Sportacus chastised, shaking his head and laughing. “He’s very good to me, I will admit.”

"That's good," Robbie told him, and he meant it. Sportaloon deserved someone openly affectionate and reliable like that, who would cook him delicious meals that took hours to make. Who wouldn't say anything unkind. Who would hold him in their strong arms. Who would stay by his side, but never drag him down. Who would love him, marry him, take him to another country for the experience, and definitely not cheat behind his back, file a divorce that left him penniless, almost get him deported, leave him and his only son alone...

"Are you okay?" Sportacus asked.

"Fine," said Robbie. But actually, looking at the hunched man in the curve of his empty glass, he knew he was far from it. What was he supposed to say, though? _No, I'm not okay, I just realized I might kind of have feelings for you that may or may not ruin my chances of ever getting you fired and seeing those guys from Mayhem Town suffer through eating a full bag of gummy bears?_ He might as well just admit himself to some mental institution now because of how crazy that sounded. Luckily, Sportacus didn't press any further, instead changing the subject.

"I coach Division III men's soccer, so I got to know some of your friends who are on the team."

Robbie realized he was referring to the other Rottens, and he raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"I hear you've been teaching them English and hanging out with them outside of school to keep them from being bullied. Is this true?"

Bobby, Tobby, and Flobby Rotten weren't their real names, of course. Robbie christened them as such when they arrived from Iceland so they could feel like they already had a sense of belonging, which he himself did _not_ have when _he_ was a scared exchange student from Iceland back in high school. The way he saw it, he was just saving them from similar embarrassment.

"Yeah, you know, whatever," he replied with a shrug. The look Sportacus gave him after, though, was like no other look he'd seen from him before. His cheeks were all full and pink, his eyes glistening. Was he about to get all teary-eyed on him? Because he didn't know if he could handle that. Then, he mouthed _'awww'_ as heavily as he could without saying it out loud and placed a hand over his heart. He didn't even notice as he stepped on a bit of table cloth and almost fell backwards. "Woah, don't trip, Sportaclumsy!" Robbie caught him by his arms just in time, his big, toned biceps that threatened to burst through the thin material of his green sweatshirt— _Stop it, Robbie, stop it_ —and stood him back up, clearing his throat. "After all, I wouldn't want to be held responsible."

"That's so sweet, what you're doing for them," Sportacus smiled. 

"Well, hey, don't go telling the world," Robbie said, though he blushed and grinned back, and wow, he was still holding his arms.

He started to pull back when a salsa version of "Feliz Navidad" began playing on the speakers, and Sportacus reached out for him. "Hey, Robbie, wait. Do you want to dance with me?"

His mouth went dry. "I don't—really? Are you sure you want to?" 

Sportacus chuckled. "You don't have to, it was only a suggestion."

"I-I do," Robbie stammered out.

"Great! Do you know how to dance, or should I show you?"

"Do I—of course I know how to dance! Get over here," he scolded playfully, and he grabbed his hand and brought him to the center of the dance floor before he could protest. This was the only form of exercise Robbie really enjoyed, made all the better by a partner who also knew what they were doing. They stepped in time to the quick beat of the music and spun each other around, sometimes holding each other's hands or wrapping an arm around each other's shoulder blades, and always laughing.

"You're really good at this," Sportacus breathed as Robbie spun him.

"I think I was waiting for you," Robbie replied, drawing him back in and spinning him out again. They shimmied their shoulders and stepped forward and back, swinging their hips. Then, Sportacus spun Robbie in a double turn and caught him in a dip. "That's not how that dance goes, you moron," he howled with laughter, elbowing his ribs.

"Maybe not. But you knew I'd catch you." His blue eyes had those crow's feet around them, and God, Robbie would do anything to make it happen again. So he grabbed his waist, pulled him to his chest, and started side-galloping in revenge, and Sportacus cracked up. "Alright, that's _definitely_ not how the dance goes."

"No? You sure? You said it yourself, I'm an expert at this."

For the rest of the song, they tried to outdo one-another in how far away as possible they could get from salsa dancing. Finally, they both grew out of breath and stood there on dance floor, laughing in each other's ears. They started gently rocking back and forth, and Robbie was struck with inspiration. He placed one hand on Sportacus's waist and held his hand with the other. "I win," he whispered, winking, and Sportacus looked up at him and grinned. 

Not far off, Stephanie and Pixel were kissing underneath a sprig of mistletoe she was holding, and Robbie could see Stingy looking at them both with an expression that read, "I want a piece of  _that_ action," and Trixie glaring holes at the back of his head. It made him snicker, and he buried his nose in Sportacus's soft blonde hair. He felt the other's hand lift and hover above the back of his neck before ultimately resting there, warmth seeping through Robbie's collar. Next thing he knew, his eyes were closing, and the sounds of Chirstmas music grew quieter, the smell of apples and dry shampoo growing stronger. His stomach curled in on itself as he dared admit he could grow used to this feeling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows they're gay for each other now, hahaha. Also, Stingy is an agender boi who hits on any/everything that moves because freaking YES.
> 
> Happy Casual Friday! ;D


	6. "Well. THAT'S a mild convenience."

Forget Civic Engineering—Robbie should have majored in Astrology. Apparently, he was so good at reading the stars that he had somehow predicted the 'Blue Elf' nickname would correlate perfectly with the fact Sportacus was the Devil himself. In part, he knew this was impossible because he was always smiling and helping people, but the way he was tugging at his heartstrings all the time was _not_ nice.

His feelings grew even more intense after the long winter break when all he could think about was going flower shopping and dancing at the Christmas party. Even his stupid flips had permanently engraved themselves on his mind. What a mess.

Just imagine how disarrayed he was walking into European History class first thing that morning when he got back. Sure, he looked fine—he looked fabulous, as always—but he tripped and grunted a lot more than usual. Sportacus showed up looking like a mess too. Come to think of it, this was the worst Robbie had ever seen him.

He was _sitting down,_ for one, and for two, his eyes had this blank glazed-over look that scared him. His hair was a frazzled pile on his head, he missed three coat buttons, and his blue shirt hung low over his trousers like a toga, not to mention papers were spilling out of his briefcase. That wasn't the weirdest part, though. The weird part was that he was still smiling, and he stood up and clapped his hands, walking to the chalkboard.

"Alright, good morning, guys. Today, we're going to start our lesson on the Hundred Years' War, with a few important dates to kick it off." He did a kick at the word kick, of course, like the cheerleader he was. It went only half as high, though. "Now, who can tell me about the Golden Bull of 1356? Pixel?"

"The Golden Bull of 1356 is a decree named for its seal, issued by Emperor Charles IV. It limited the number of imperial electors to seven, allowed German kings to self-govern, established centralization of the Holy Roman Empire for over four hundred years, and distributed most of its power to Prussia."

"Yes, very good," Sportacus chuckled without following up with a power pose. Seriously, did nobody else notice this?! "Who can tell me why this was significant in relation to England and France's developments at the time? Stephanie?"

"Charles saw England and France's monarchies were firmly established and had more unified principalities compared to him, so he created the Golden Bull to unite his own German states. This would prove to be more effective than either of the two countries, which were quickly overthrown by the War of the Roses and the Jacquerie, respectively."

"Excellent," said Sportacus, nodding. "Add that to the fact England and France's kingdoms were disputing with each other over feudal matters, and we can see how things got very messy, very quick— _yes,_ Robbie?" Sportacus practically jumped at the sight of his hand rising tentatively into the air, he was so joyful. "Do you have something to add?"

Robbie cleared his throat. "The Golden Bull is a lot like the Golden Rule, except that the number one priority is to always call bullshit on something that desperately needs it. Like this lecture!"

With that, the students burst into laughter, and Sportacus's look of hope turned into a defeated shrug. "Alright, I guess I'll have to ask you to stay after class again." Everyone's laughter slowly died away at that, accompanied by several eye rolls. They had grown used to Robbie getting in trouble at that point. 

After class, Robbie sat in the chair by Sportacus's desk again. Sportacus closed the door and sat in front of him. Then he reached into his drawer, took out a chocolate bar, and handed it to him, a gesture he often did when they used Robbie's misbehavior as an excuse to hang out after class. "That was some real progress today, even if it wasn't exactly what I was looking for," he laughed. "I take it the study group is going well for you?"

"More or less," Robbie admitted through bites. He was less interested in that now than he was in finding out what the hell was wrong with him, though—for observational purposes, of course. "So, what's happening with you today? You're not doing all those annoying circus tricks like normal."

"I'm fine, Robbie," he chuckled. "I just need to pump in some more insulin." He lifted his shirt and pointed to the white device attached to one of his belt loops—so _that_ was why he was a hyperactive health nut—but Robbie wasn't buying it.

"Don't gimme that crap. What's going on?"

Sportacus looked at him for a while, then chuckled some more. “Pablo and I broke up last night, and I spent most of the evening helping him move all his stuff from my penthouse to a new apartment.”

“Well, what are you doing here, Sportacrazy? Go home and take a nap,” he said, gulping down the last of his chocolate.

Sportacus smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't."

"Why not?"

“If I were home with no one there again, it would kill me.”

His voice came out soft, and for one moment, all Robbie could do was take one long look at him. "Fuck." He stood from his chair and pulled him into a hug. “I’ll go to your penthouse, and I’ll cook you something. I’m gonna take out all the shitty-ass vegetables from your fridge and make one big soup out of them. Oh, c’mere. _Mmmm.”_ He knew Sportacus’s eyes were probably near popping out of his skull by now, but he couldn’t help it. All he wanted right now was to smother Sportacus in the tightest burrito possible and never let anyone or thing hurt him again.

“Robbie,” he could hear him whisper before he rested his head on his shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re in good hands now. I’m not gonna let that asshole get away with this.”

Sportacus only hummed, sliding his hands up and down Robbie’s back.

They pulled away. Sportacus looked drunk with his pink cheeks and bleary eyes. “Mmn… so good at hugging,” he mumbled.

“There’s more where that came from, pal,” Robbie said, trying to keep his heartbeat in check.

“Can you just do that for the rest of the night?”

“Well, gee, Sport. When would you eat? Or sleep?”

“I don’t want any of that,” he whined, and Robbie scoffed.

“Okay. Hearing it from me is one thing, but you? That’s just sad. Come on.” He wrapped an arm around his shoulder blade and led him back to his apartment.

~

Upon stepping through the door, Robbie banished Sportacus to the bathroom so he could shower. "Trust me, this is helping me a _lot_ more than it's helping you," he said, waving in front of his nose, and Sportacus smiled and rolled his eyes before complying anyway. Then, Robbie found the nearest apron and tied it around his waist before taking out all the vegetables from Sportacus's fridge, like he promised, and chopping and dicing them each. He fumbled through the cabinets, grunting and cursing before finding what he was looking for. He nodded in satisfaction. One big, stinky soup, coming right up!

Soon, the water stopped running. He was stirring the broth in five separate pots on the electric stove when he heard quiet footsteps and the smell of apples approach him from behind.

"Thanks for being here, Robbie."

"Hey, it's no skin off my back," he shrugged. "I will say, though, it's kinda annoying how there are no spices in this kitchen or a giant pot for all these vegetables. What kinda chef is he supposed to be, anyway? No offense, seriously, but fuck that guy." He hoped it came across as heartfelt as he meant it.

And evidently, it did, judging by Sportacus's laughter in the background. "I really am glad you're here, Robbie."

He looked at the dripping wet man with a towel around his neck from out the corner of his eye and focused back on the stove, face growing hot from all the steam and vegetable soups reaching a boiling point. Fingers shaking, he switched the dials off. "You better stop saying that, or I'm going to do something terrible."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm going to kiss you, Sportacus," Robbie sighed, grabbing the front of his freshly-ironed blue shirt and pulling him towards him. "I'm going to kiss you because I really want to, and you're not going to feel the same way, and I'll have to live with the consequences. But Goddammit, it's what you deserve."

They watched each other for a while, Sportacus's mouth moving without saying anything. Finally, it grew into a smile. “I found one problem with your idea.”

Robbie groaned. “I already said you don’t have to feel the same way back, what more do you want?”

“Robbie,” Sportacus reassured, “it’s the reason Pablo and I broke up. He didn’t act like a jerk, like you thought.  _I_ broke it off with  _him_ because I fell for someone else. I fell for you.”

He stood back and cleared his throat. “Well.  _That’s_ a mild convenience.”

“Yeah,” Sportacus giggled, hands now framing Robbie’s face.

“Then if this is such good news, why were you acting like the world was ending?”

“Because I lost my feelings for him, and I just… I felt bad.” He looked down and pouted his lower lip like a puppy.

“Come  _on,_ Sportaflop. Chef Boyardee’ll just whip up a fresh dish of lasagna, cry over it a little, and be done with it.”

“Will you stop calling him that,” Sportacus scolded, though it was entirely overpowered with laughter.

Robbie shrugged. “Know what? You’re right. I forgot he’s also a television personality. Maybe ‘Guy Fieri’ would be a better fit?”

“You’re so silly.” Sportacus shook his head and cut off both of their laughter by leaning in and pressing his lips to Robbie's. It was an _instant_ knee-weakener, and Robbie felt himself let go of the ladle and nearly fall on the ground before Sportacus caught him in his arms and just kept kissing him. He wanted Sportacus to melt in his arms back, so he ran his fingers through his hair before sliding them down the side of his face and neck and edging them beneath his shirt collar. It worked, and soon, he was absolute putty in his arms as he held and kissed him in the most loving, gentle manner possible. He kept it up, then opened his mouth a little, tucked Sportacus's lower lip beneath his buck teeth, and bit down. The other jumped, and he smiled against his lips.  _Fooled you._

But Sportacus was in no mood to play fair, either, and he took hold of Robbie's shoulders and backed him into the kitchen wall. Only then, with his wrists pinned and Sportacus's lips trailing to the corner of his mouth, did he remember something.

“What the hell are we doing? You just got out of a relationship, we can’t make out.”

Sportacus pulled back, eyes looking right into his. “No offense, seriously, but fuck that rule.”

Robbie didn't have time to be shocked or highly amused at his own line being altered and thrown back at him before the other's lips were on his again. Not that he minded, of course—quite the opposite, actually. He let him know by carding a hand through his hair and pulling him closer so he could deepen the kiss. Their tongues swirled around, and Sportacus's hands moved to his own hair. He felt his eyes roll to the back of his head.  _Ohhhhh yeah._  Robbie was down for this all day, every day, anytime at all. His professor only had to say the word.

They pulled back, breathing heavily, both lips red and covered in spit. The vegetable soup had long frozen by now, but neither seemed to care. Robbie brushed over where his fingernails had dug into Sportacus's scalp, and he gave him a small peck on the lips. "That was fun."

"Yeah," the other nodded, eyes shining, and his hands moved from his back to his elbows. “Listen, I know we haven’t really gone on any dates, but—” he began, and Robbie violently shook his head.

“No. Nope, fuck you, you are not going to ask me to be your new boyfriend right now and make me cry all over my new jacket. …Oh, fine.”

And they laughed hysterically, resting their foreheads together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyyyyy
> 
> But also, hoo boy. XD


	7. "For a goody-goody, you really surprise me sometimes."

A wave of giddiness took over Robbie's being ever since he left the penthouse that night. He hadn't been in a relationship in who-knows-how-long. Granted, it was more of a casual deal, but at this point, he was willing to take anything. Just as long as it meant he got to keep checking his professor out in European History class. 

Sportacus checked him out right back, too. It was almost like a game the two of them would play: who would blush and look away first? Would Sportacus's purposeful eye contact cinch the victory, or would Robbie's "accidentally" brushing his book bag past the other's leg when he entered the room remind him of other things and break his resolve? Not to mention the countless double entendres in their conversations.

"Mr. Stefánsson, you are in huge trouble."

”Mm? How huge?” *Glances quickly at other's crotch, then looks back up before expanding his hands.* ” _That_ huge?”

*Eyes crinkling.* "That’s not even half of it.”

But the best part, dare he say it, had to be getting up early to see if he could get him all hot and bothered before class began. On Monday, he was the first person to saunter into the room. His professor's hair was perfectly brushed, just waiting for someone to run their fingers through it, and he had some black spectacles on his face as he squinted at the fine print papers before him. Robbie swept some of them aside and leaned his elbows on the surface.

"Hey there, Sportahotstuff. Looking good."

"Not now. Class is about to start," Sportacus chastised, though his eyes were smiling.

"You don't love me," he pretended to pout. 

He felt a warm hand brush his cheek. "Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are when you're pouty?"

"Shut up," he laughed, though he could feel his face reddening already. Dammit!

“So, Robbie, I was thinking,” Sportacus said, tapping his fingers together in an uncharacteristically nervous fashion. “I’d like to, um… try something in class today.”

 _Oh?_ “What is it?”

“Well, I… you’ll see.”

Hmmm. Mysterious. He liked it.

They couldn't flirt anymore after that because more students would be filing in soon, so Robbie left and pretended he was late again—he still had a reputation to uphold, remember?

When he got back from his second cup of coffee and third bowlful of Froot Loops at the cafeteria, Sportacus was spouting some shit about the Italian Renaissance, and the students were diligently taking notes.

"...Marked the transition from the Medieval period to Modernity. With its center in Florence, and a rediscovery of Humanism and Greco-Roman culture through artwork and architecture, a handful of thinkers declared they were living in a new age."

Robbie rolled his eyes and made his way towards the back of the room to plant his butt in a chair.

"Oh, no! Absolutely not, Mr. Stefánsson!"

Oops, he sounded mad. Guess he was gone a little _too_ long.

”Something wrong, Professor?” He flashed him a sweet smile.

”Don’t give me that,” Sportacus continued, wagging a finger. “Now, I didn’t like the tone you took with me yesterday, so from now on, everything’s entirely consequential.”

Robbie chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You don’t scare me, Elf.”

”You! Up front! _Now,”_ he barked, and shivers ran down Robbie’s spine because it was S-E-X-Y. He walked to where his professor’s finger was pointing in the front center row. Once he got there, he lowered his voice.

“Why am I really here?”

“Because I want to see how cute you are, and I can’t do that when you’re hiding in the back,” Sportacus whispered.

Robbie’s ears went all red as the other circled his desk. “Honestly, Mr. Stefánsson, if I was your father... never mind. Let’s continue with class, shall we?”

It took all the both of them had to keep a straight face, especially when the girls giggled, "Yes, Sportacus!" Then, they whispered among themselves and glared daggers at Robbie.

"What a troublemaker."

"Disobeying the professor!"

"The beautiful, gorgeous professor."

Robbie only shrugged, kicking his feet up on his desk. _Boy, if they only knew._

"Today, guys, we'll conclude the last hour of class with a PBS episode on the Medici family. It's a fascinating documentary that really shows how their dynasty shaped the art and artists of the Italian Renaissance. Taking notes is not required, but be sure to have questions and comments ready on Wednesday. Except for you, Mr. Stefánsson."

Robbie grinned, making a phone gesture with his hand. "You rang?"

"Put that attitude away at once, young man! You're coming with me so we can discuss your insolent behavior in the library. It's gone on long enough—"

Sportacus started up the movie, grabbed Robbie's arm, and continued lecturing until they were out in the hallway. At which point, he shut the door and pinned Robbie against one of the walls, kissing him passionately. Robbie was laughing more than he was kissing back, however. Sportacus noticed this and broke away. "What is it?"

"Alex Busybody, I can't believe you cancelled class so you could make out with me," he purred, running a hand down his chest. "For a goody-goody, you really surprise me sometimes."

A faint pink blush dusted the other's cheeks. "Eh, well, not really. I did have the documentary planned for today. It just happened to line up perfectly, that's all."

"Hm," was all Robbie had to offer before planting a small kiss on his lips. "You sounded pretty angry back there."

"I  _was_  angry." Blue eyes met his. "You wore that 'comfortable outfit' again to class today. You know what that does to me."

True, Robbie may have also changed his outfit while he was away. He removed one of his socked feet from his shoe and brushed it against the inside of Sportacus's ankle. "Calling me a cheater, are we?" he hummed. "That's not very sportsmanlike. I think you're jealous of how easy it is for me to push your buttons." He wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face in the side, showering it with kisses.

"Aha, stop, that tickles!" The other laughed until his voice wavered with tears. "Robbie, seriously," he breathed when he pulled away. "I didn't just cancel class so we could make out. I had other plans, too."

"Like what?"

"...Eh, follow me. It's a surprise."

Sportacus took hold of Robbie's arm again, and the two of them made their way out of the building to Sportacus's silver motorcycle. As cute as his secrecy was, Robbie couldn't help but get antsy wondering what his sort-of boyfriend had planned. They rode in silence besides Sportacus's occasional remarks on how beautiful the weather was until about ten minutes later, when they arrived at their mysterious destination.

Robbie snorted. "A drive-in movie theater? Sportacus, this thing's as old as Abraham Lincoln."

"What? No, it works! Look," he said, pointing at the projection booth. Sure enough, there was a light coming out of one of the windows, and  _Little Shop of Horrors_ was playing on the big screen.

"Well, I'll be damned," Robbie remarked, and Sportacus kissed his cheek.

"Come on. Let's get tickets and popcorn."

The two of them went to the ticket booth first (since the theater was, in fact, that ancient) and bought popcorn. Robbie had the salty and buttery kind with a chocolate candy mix, and Sportacus had the gross, plain healthy kind. Robbie sat back down on the motorcycle while Sportacus stood up next to him. They laughed at the disturbingly funny parts and cuddled during the singing parts. Robbie would lean his head on Sportacus's shoulder, their fingers would meet and entwine, and Sportacus would kiss the top of his head and whisper mushy but romantic words into his ear.

They were listening to Audrey's number, "Somewhere That's Green," when Robbie spoke up.

"This is nice. We should do something like this more often."

"What, ditch school?" Sportacus chuckled.

"Well, _duh."_ Robbie rolled his eyes, elbowing him a bit. "No, I mean just... acting all couple-y in public without getting caught or judged by anyone."

"Would you like to go to the movies again tomorrow night?"

"If that means going alone with you, then yes." They fed each other popcorn from out of their respective bags for the rest of the movie. Robbie even pretended to yawn so he could sneak his arm around his boyfriend's waist. Sportacus giggled, and he gave it a little squeeze in reply. It didn't hurt, much to his chagrin.

At the end of the movie, the man at the ticket booth waved to them.

"Goodbye! Come again! No, seriously, come again, or they'll tear this place down!"

"We will, don't worry," Sportacus assured, laughing. As they maneuvered their way through the parking lot, he sighed contentedly. "Well, I guess it's about time we headed back to Lazytown, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Robbie scratched the back of his head. "Thanks for the date, by the way. It was... not bad."

Sportacus's eyes shone. "Are you saying you can do better?"

"Oh. Oh yeah, well, you just prepare yourself, Sporta-arrogant! I'm gonna plan the next date after tomorrow night, and it's gonna be so good it'll knock your ridiculous hat and mustache off." Robbie continued play-threatening him all the way back to the community college, his boyfriend's laughter echoing around them. And the more he thought about it, the more time they spent together, the more he realized he was actually falling for the guy.

~ 

"...So, that's why I'm in trouble. And that's why no one, not even the guys from MayhemTown Tech, can know anything about it—hey! I mean it!" Robbie pointed at all three of his cronies as the first few snickers began until they apologized and quieted down. He looked towards the approaching soccer field and rolled his eyes. “Also, do you three really have to go to soccer practice today?"

"Come on, Robbie, you know how antsy we get when we don't have our routinely exercise," Bobby said, and Flobby nodded next to him.

"You could cheer us on," Tobby suggested, smiling.

Robbie turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm wearing a pleated skirt to you?"

"Uhm, no?"

"Or tying ribbons in my hair? Or carrying pompoms?"

"No," the three of them shook their heads.

Robbie huffed and gritted through his teeth, "Then no, I will not be _cheering for you today."_

The three of them looked at each other before Tobby shrugged. "Well, suit yourself!" Then, they sprinted to the other side to join their team mates.

Robbie's hands flew to his hips. "Where do you think you're going? Get back here before I fire all of you and make Stephanie my new stylist! At least she doesn't spill nail polish on my fingers!"

"Hey, Robbie!"

"Uwagh—what are you doing here?!" he sputtered. Whoops, that may or may not have come out ruder than intended. He couldn't tell by Sportacus's chuckle if he was aware or not.

"I'm the DIII Men's Soccer coach!"

He raised a playful eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be teaching someone whose skills match yours?"

"Ha! No, DI and DII are a bit intense for my taste, but DIII allows for more flexibility and fun in my schedule. Your friends are amazing, by the way! Do you know that?"

Robbie looked at the three of them in—he didn't necessarily want to say affection—as they passed the ball to each other and one of them shot a goal and cheered, the other two lifting him up. "I... wasn't aware of that, no."

"You should play!" Sportacus shouted, jostling him a bit. "Sorry. It would be fun, though!"

"You really think I'd volunteer?" Robbie wrinkled his nose. "There's no way I would tire myself out and get my beautiful face wrecked by a ball."

Five Minutes Later...

"I can't believe I'm tiring myself out and getting my beautiful face wrecked by a ball," Robbie groaned. Well, okay, scratch out that first part. He was just sitting next to the goal post and picking at one of the dead dandelions on the ground while everyone else was elsewhere, roughing it up. Scratch out that second part, too, while he thought about it.

"Robbie, the goal!" Bobby called, voice having grown close all of a sudden.

"What?"

"The goal, get in the goal!" Tobby echoed.

"Okay, okay, geez." Robbie scrambled and stood up, bracing his arms. "Where did you guys come from, anyway? I thought you were all at the other end of the—"

...Yeah, so about those first and second parts: he spoke way too soon.

He collided with the ground and covered his nose and mouth, both dripping with blood, with his hand. He drew in one shaky breath after another, squeezing his eyes shut. When he felt his friends' hands on his arms, trying to pull him up, he curled into himself. "Ah, God, no! Don't touch me!"

Sounds of mixed irritation and whimpering came not long after, and he heard Sportacus saying, "It’s okay, guys. Don’t take it personally, he’s just hurt.” His voice sounded shaky for once, and not in a nervous way. More in a really upset way.

Just then, he felt two arms scooping underneath his legs and back and lifting him up. He bounced up and down as Sportacus carried him quickly to the nearest building. Once they got inside, they went to the bathroom on the bottom floor, where they knew they wouldn't be bothered. There, he placed Robbie in front of a mirror and stood behind him to keep his head leaned forward. He wiped the blood off with a wet paper towel in one hand and gingerly examined his nose with the other.

"Ith id broken?" Robbie asked, voice dulled by the fingers pinching the soft part of his nose.

Sportacus shook his head. "No, it would be bent at an angle if it were. I should know," he chuckled somewhat, tapping on his own nose for reference.

Robbie's eyes widened. "Jethuth! How'd you manage _thad?"_

"I'm an athlete. It's part of the job," Sportacus shrugged, smiling. Then he frowned. "But you did not sign up for it."

"Oh, Thport—"

"It's all my fault what happened to you back there. I'm sorry, Robbie." He kissed his forehead and he groaned, brushing him off.

"Come on, quid babying me."

Sportacus gave him a look. "I'm your boyfriend. I can't help being concerned for you."

"Will you stob thad? C'mere." Robbie leaned forward and kissed the frown off his face before looking into his eyes. "I'm glad I got to blay with you guyth."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah, it'th not like I get invited to blay thoccer _all_ the dime. Or really do much of anything before you arrived on camputh. Now, could you blease remove your figgers from my nothe tho I can dalk clearly?"

Sportacus laughed. "Yes, your ten minutes is up." He let go and Robbie breathed normally.

"Phew, thank you! Somehow, I don't think 'You mean a lot to me' would've been quite the same with my voice sounding all funny." He directed his head pointedly at Sportacus with that last sentence, and a grin took up half his face.

"Oh? How much?"

Robbie grinned back. _"Thith_ much," he said, covering his nose again before reaching over and pinching Sportacus's.

"Well, if id'th all the thame to you, Mr. Rodden, you bean a lod to me too," he said, rolling his eyes. Then, they leaned in and pressed their lips together even when they were both laughing. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing nose voices XD


	8. "As proud as I am now."

It was Thursday morning on Valentine's Day. Robbie and Sportacus just had another successful "date" at the grocery store and were now rushing towards the parking lot.

"Hey, Sportacycle, how much time do we have to arrive back before suspicions start surfacing?"

"I'd say about T-minus nine minutes."

"Well, let's get going, then!" They hopped onto the silver motorcycle and sped down the road. The minutes flew by quickly. Eight... seven... six... five... three... (since Sportacus got a ticket for speeding and it took Robbie two minutes to chew out the cops). It was two minutes before the bell when they sprinted towards the library. Once they got there, they scrambled to find a book to pretend to be paying attention to. Robbie thrust one at Sportacus. "Here, use this! It's 'Manners for Dummies'! Pretend to be teaching me some manners!"

"Good idea!" he agreed. They sat down at a table and made sure their breaths were even before they continued. The next person to walk in was Trixie, who was reading something by Oscar Wilde this time. She saw the two of them and watched from a distance as Sportacus talked. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it, Mr. Stefánsson?"

"Are you kidding me?! That was the worst thing I ever... I mean, _no,_ Professor Busybody, sir."

"There, see? You're getting better every minute. If you keep this up, perhaps I can teach you some 'Grammar For Dummies'. That is, if you don't misbehave." His voice grew very suggestive at that last line.

"Oh, I'll try very hard," Robbie purred, winking back.

"Yo, Sportacus," Trixie said, making both their heads turn.

"What's up, Trixie?"

"The theater kids wanna see Robbie for a bit. I'm gonna steal him, okay?"

"Yes. Go ahead, Trixie." Sportacus turned to Robbie. "Now, you stay out of trouble, young man."

"Mm... I think I'm gonna get in all the trouble and see if you rescue me. How's that sound?"

"Robbie! Stop flirting with the teacher, already, we've gotta go!" Trixie scolded, grabbing hold of his wrist, and it took the two of them all they had not to burst into laughter. _If she had any idea at all._

At last, Trixie succeeded in dragging Robbie all the way to the theater where, sure enough, the crew was waiting. Robbie knew what he was in for. It was very paint-by-the-numbers. Ever since Stephanie found out how much Robbie liked to design clothes and inventions—well, alright, or he might have showed her a few examples out of his own prideful freewill and tailored a vest for her birthday—she and everyone else in their study group had been trying to convince him to help out with the school play. They would wait until his morning class ended, one of them would bring him here, and they would all chorus how much they wanted him to help.

"Please, Robbie?" Stephanie begged.

"You could help me with stage crew," Pixel offered from above as he adjusted the lights.

"Or us with the art," Ziggy and Jives chimed in

"Why don't you just join, already? You know we're gonna keep bugging you if you don't," Trixie pushed.

"Yeah, what Trixie said," Stingy agreed, sidling up next to her and placing a hand on her waist. Curiously enough, she did not seem to oppose. "Besides, _someone_ has to teach these hooligans how to act." He directed his head at Ken and William, and they groaned.

"Dude, seriously, again?" 

"Yeah, give it a rest, already, it's not like this is the _pinnacle_ of your career," William said, holding his hands up.

"My, my! Such big words for a tiny brain!" Stingy sniffed.

Ken and William's eyes widened. "Okay, that's it, buddy! Do you wanna go?"

"Well, this just escalated a lot faster than _King Lear,"_ Ziggy said, and Jives nodded next to him.

Meanwhile, Stingy rolled up the sleeves of his dress. "Trixie! Hold _my_ tiara, and make sure nothing happens to it! I'm going to teach these know-it-alls how to fight like _real_ men!"

"Yeah, kick their ass, babe!" Trixie cheered, earning her a stern look from Stephanie. "What?"

"Trixie, if they fight, and Dean Busybody gets back from her meeting with my uncle and sees, they're gonna get suspended. We have to do something!" she pressed.

Robbie's chin tightened with resolve. Only he, Robbie Rotten, was allowed to make a mess of a room, after all! "Hey, uh, stop that," he said, stepping towards them. Of course, they were busy going down in a tangle of limbs and soaring fists. Robbie danced awkwardly around the edge. "You, there! Kyle...Warren... whatever. Don't tear at Sticky's dress, that's expensive. Oh, come on, seriously, guys, quit fighting!  _HEY!"_

His voice echoed throughout the auditorium as he got their attention at last. It was so loud, in fact, that Pixel startled from where he was and slipped, now dangling at the edge of the rigging with only his hand for support.

"Uh, guys—I'm in a situation!" he called panickedly.

"Pixel!" Stephanie cried. "Hang on, I'll help you!"

"Yeah, uh, hang in there, Poodle! She'll get you down!" Robbie added.

"Such strength," Stingy sighed whimsically while looking up, and Trixie elbowed him a bit. "Ow! I was only kidding!"

"Sure you were." She smirked, rolling her eyes.

"Alright, you caught me," he said, smirking back. "You know how much I love to make you jealous, my pet." In response, she spun him into a dip and kissed him.

Meanwhile, at the same time they were having their romantic moment, Stephanie had managed to climb up the stairs to the rigging. She knelt down and reached a hand out.

"Here, grab hold!"

"But Stephanie, my left hand is supporting me, and my right shoulder is bent at a 135-degree angle, making that hand out of reach by nine point five centimeters—"

"For God's sake, stop trying to impress her with your math, and take the woman's hand!" 

"Robbie, that's not helping," Stephanie called back before turning back to the other. "Pixel—please trust me?"

He stopped flailing, then, and looked up at her. "I always trust you, Stephanie."

A smile slowly crossed her face until it was a full-on beam, and a few people couldn't help but say, "Awww." Then, one of his fingers slipped loose, and she grew serious again. "Okay! I'm going to grab your left hand when you let go on three!" Pixel nodded, and they counted together. "One... two... three!" 

Pixel let go and started yelling until Stephanie's hand caught his wrist. "Gotcha!" Then, she pulled him up and wrapped an arm around his shoulder while they sat on the edge of the rigging and listened to the sounds of cheering below. 

"Phew, thank goodness! My hand was starting to get all sweaty," he chuckled weakly.

"It's a good thing I got up here on time," she agreed, leaning into him. He just smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Then, just as they were about to get up and leave, the rigging rattled. "Umm... what's that noise?" Stephanie asked uncertainly.

Pixel frowned in thought. "Er... I don't... know?"

Next thing they knew, one of the hanging wires holding it up dropped down, sending both of them nearly toppling over the edge this time. Now, there were two hands grabbing the rigging, accompanied by two screams. 

"You idiot! What did you go and pull that lever for?!" William demanded.

"Well, hey, it's not my fault! You're the one who told me it would lower them down gently!" Ken protested.

Even so, people were booing them both. Others were either hyperventilating along with or trying to calm Stingy.

"This is bad, this is really bad," he panicked, pacing back and forth across the stage. Robbie was in that mode of thought for a while, fanning himself and panting heavily until he heard Stephanie say something like, "Oh, I wish Sportacus were here to save us!" At that, he came to a dead stop. Now was not the time to be just Robbie. He had to be Robbie Rotten; it was their only hope.

"We don't need Sportaloon!" he called back in a scoffing voice after picking up one of the microphones, true to his character. "All he'll do is flippity-flop around the theater! What we need is my genius plans! You, there! Kade, Wyatt, whatever! I don't care what your names are! If you know what's good for you, you're gonna grab the ends of those curtains right now!" The two very scared-looking men did as they were told while Robbie barked more orders. "Jives, guard the door in case you see the dean! Zigzag, find the drapery cord, and don't pull it until I tell you to! Tricky, get Sticky off the stage! Everybody else, grab and hold up the curtain edges like those two clowns as they start to close!"

Even in his heightened state of adrenaline, it was easy to see everything was going accordingly to plan, and this brought him more confidence. Once everyone was in position and awaiting the next orders so quietly one could hear a pin drop, he raised the microphone to his lips again. "The drapery cord's on the right, you moron!"

"Thank you!" Ziggy called back, rushing to the other side.

"Whatever! You'd better be ready on three, or else!" He looked up at Stephanie and Pixel. "You guys are gonna have to let go, okay?"

They nodded and smiled, though he could see they were barely holding on at this point.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and counted. "One... ah, fuck it, _three!"_

Stephanie and Pixel let go and started yelling just as Ziggy pulled the drapery cord and Stingy and Trixie joined everyone else who grabbed and held up the curtains, running along with them as they began to close. In effect, they created a sort of slide, which turned the couple's terrified screams into ones of delight. While watching his brilliant vision come to life, however, Robbie had not accounted for how exactly they were going to land once they slipped off the edge of the curtains towards the ground. As a result, the both of them landed on top of him, rendering them safe and him out of breath. Still, the sounds of cheering and applause that filled his ears was pretty nice. 

"Thank you so much, Robbie!" Stephanie breathed, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

"Yeah, you saved our lives," Pixel agreed, doing the same.

"Gack—this is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow," he grunted, though he was smiling somewhat and patting both their backs. 

"There you are, Mr. Stefánsson!" a voice boomed from the open doorway Jives was supposed to be guarding. It was Sportacus, holding up a sheet of paper and looking extra angry. "I opened my desk drawer to find not your essay among the ones I collected but a crude drawing of me getting eaten by penguins at the South Pole! I thought we were past this!"

Huh? Wait, Robbie never drew that. Even so, he sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Doesn't seem like you not to appreciate art, Sportaflop. Then again, I guess your overwhelming jealousy of my talent is why you can't draw a stick figure anyway."

"Nah-ah! No more talking! You're coming with me right now, and we are marching straight to the president's office," he huffed, grabbing his wrist. 

"See you later, guys!" Robbie called, and the others laughed and shook their heads. Sportacus shut the door behind them but did not immediately pin him against the wall that time. Instead, he kept walking without looking behind him. His grip, tighter than normal, was starting to hurt. "Um... Sportacus?" Robbie tried, but he shook his head and kept walking.

Soon, they were in the bathroom basement, and the other turned and locked the door. That's when he understood it was not anger he was dealing with. "Desperate again, are we, Sport—"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before a pair of lips were on his, hands carding through his hair. Keep in mind, he was still full of adrenaline from having successfully saved his friends, so when Sportacus grabbed his shoulder blades and drew him closer to him so he could kiss down the side of his face to his jaw to his neck, he was _wasted._

"Oh my _God,_ the way you saved those guys! You are so hot I don't even know what to do with you," he breathed. And Robbie could tell he meant it, from the hungry look in his eyes he'd mistaken for pure anger to the shakiness in his fingers. Slowly, he moved his hands to interlace with them and walked forward until Sportacus was against the wall. He made sure his breath was just barely ghosting the other's nose.

"I know _exactly_ what to do with you," he said, looking down at his lips and back up. When he didn't get the swoon he was waiting for, he frowned and touched his cheek. "What's the matter? You're supposed to be incredibly turned on."

The other sighed. "I know, it's just that I feel bad. I wish I could flirt and spend more time with you without letting the other students think you're in trouble all the time when really, you're so sweet." Honest blue eyes looked up from the ground and into his. "I want you to let me know if it's ever too much, okay?"

"God, it's not too much," Robbie laughed, wrapping his arms around his neck. "It's perfect. I love you." Sportacus looked down with pink cheeks and smiled, and Robbie chuckled. "What?"

"You said you love me. On Valentine's Day," he chuckled back before looking back up. "I can't think of a more perfect day to say I love you too."

"So, say it," Robbie teased, and Sportacus pulled him into a hug.

"I love you too, Robbie." He traced an idle hand down his chest. "And... I want to show you just how much, if you'll let me."

Robbie's breath hitched. "I'll meet you at your apartment."

~

The first thing the two of them did, besides hang up their coats and turn on the radio, was crash onto Sportacus's couch and make out. Funny enough, even when their hearts were racing, both of them were so used to it at this point that they could carry on a full conversation.

"So, your sense of heroism... where does that come from?" Robbie asked as he pushed him onto his back and buried his nose into his collar bone.

"I've always wanted to help people. I was an intern at my dad's social working company before I decided to become a professor— _wow,_ Robbie, your hands feel so nice."

"Here, help me now by relaxing. It'll feel much better that way," he coaxed, bringing his hands to Sportacus's waist for a second to lower his arching back before they went back underneath his shirt to his chest again.

He chuckled. "Sorry. ADHD. It's one of the reasons they said I wouldn't cut it."

"Ah, well, that's bullshit," Robbie decided, leaning back in to kiss his neck again. 

"It's okay, really," he continued. "I like my job. Of course, ideally, I would be teaching a sports and exercise science class, but it's a competitive department, and history's the next best thing. Besides, if I didn't come here, I wouldn't have met Stingy. Or Stephanie. Or the most _amazing_  massager in the world—!"

"Told you it would feel good," Robbie laughed in his ear. He didn't have time to drink in his success before he was suddenly the one being flipped onto his back among the pile of pillows.

"Enough about me. I'm interested to know what _your_ family does," Sportacus said, and with him looking at Robbie like that, how could he refuse?

"I wouldn't say we're heroes in the traditional sense," Robbie breathed as Sportacus did that thing which drove him absolutely insane. "I mean, we help people, alright, but in very unconventional ways."

"Mmhm. Tell me more," Sportacus hummed in an almost teasing tone, unbuttoning his shirt one at a time and kissing him in-between. _Someone_ was picking up bad habits, and it was delicious.

"Well, my mom mostly supported us since she was a lawyer, so my dad didn't need a job, per se. After the divorce, he started up a business out of our house and taught me a few tools of trade—oh, geez, wow, _now_ I get what you were feeling."

"You were so good to me I thought I'd return the favor," Sportacus chuckled.

Robbie shook his head. "You're such a Sportatease. Can't you see I'm trying to tell a story, here?" He was chuckling back, though, and he knew it. "Anyway, it barely kept us above the poverty line, but we did what we had to, and it was still work. By day, we were car mechanics, but at night..."

He didn't finish his sentence. Sportacus noticed and stopped massaging Robbie's bare chest with his hands, raising his head from his neck. "What?" 

It was exactly the reaction Robbie had been looking for. With a grin, he sat up and offered Sportacus a hand. The other took it, a curious expression forming on his face. Robbie stood up and turned off the radio. Then, he led him over to a black wooden chair and sat him down. "Wait here," he whispered before promptly disappearing into another room.

Five minutes later, he peeked out from behind the door to see Sportacus bouncing his leg, as he thought he would. He chuckled. Well, not to worry. The show would be entertaining enough.

True to his word, he stilled when Robbie emerged with a bit of soft makeup on his face, dancing slowly towards him while humming "Master of Disguise." He stayed a couple feet away at first to let him take in the whole view, then slipped off his leather jacket and placed it on the floor. He stepped around the chair, brushing his hand across Sportacus's shoulder blade to the other side. There, he bent forward to rest his other hand on his shoulder before standing back up again. He didn't once look at his face during this exchange, because he knew he didn't need to. He could feel the fascination pouring off him in waves.

He stepped away from the chair and did a few more dances, swaying his hips and moving his arms and hands as though they were leaves in the wind before unbuttoning his shirt. He looked over his bare shoulder, then spun around his audience in a ballet-like fashion before sitting on his lap, facing away from him. He leaned back and picked up Sportacus's hands, allowing them to run over his chest and torso before standing up and sliding off his shirt. He lifted his hands to the sky, allowing him to get a good view of his satin purple chemise with lace trim that fit him like a glove at the top and flowed at the bottom. Beneath it was a pair of sheer black stockings that went up to his thighs. He stepped out of his flats and performed a few more slow, sensual dances before sitting down on his lap facing him that time and gently grinding. He lifted his chin so he could look into his eyes: intense, piercing. He placed a finger on his lips as though to hush him, even when it wasn't necessary. Even when he was already utterly, helplessly raptured.

"Did you like it?" he whispered. "I choreographed that one specially for you."

“Oh, Robbie,” Sportacus said, unshed tears in his eyes, “you perform so beautifully. Why didn’t you go to callbacks?”

“Because I’m a wallflower, Sportacus. And I was too afraid of what might happen if I cut off the stem.”

“I’ll tell you what would happen.” He wrapped his arms around him and brought him closer, if possible, to rest his head against his chest. _“I_ would be proud of you. As proud as I am now.”

And Robbie crossed his legs behind Sportacus’s back and buried his nose in his hair in return.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Lear, tho, for real...it goes to 100 level and beyond.
> 
> Also, yay, we get more couple moments! :3


	9. "Everything is worth it for him."

If Robbie thought he felt lightning as far back as the day they met, that was nothing compared to the storm three weeks ago when they first—well. The event in itself moved pretty quickly. After Robbie got up from the chair, Sportacus led him to his room. He remembered the feeling of sweat. He remembered it being dark except the blue lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. He remembered his knees wobbling and Sportacus holding him, telling him it was okay. He remembered gaining confidence midway through, flipping Sportacus over onto his back so he could feel the storm surging in him, too, the tingling in their lips and fingers. He remembered the surrounding smells of apples and soap as they fell asleep after, pressed against each other...

As one would imagine, they'd had plenty of time to practice since then. Once Sportacus insisted he was comfortable and satisfied, Robbie would be able to shake off his nerves and get into it. And Robbie had to remind Sportacus a few times that he didn't have to be so gentle, which he'd been happily taking into account. It may not have always ended in a sleepover like it did on the weekends, but the couch right before an afternoon shower—which they sometimes even shared—during weekdays when Robbie visited was just as good. Other times, all they needed from each other was to cuddle as Robbie watched whatever was on the shopping channel and Sportacus graded a bunch of icky papers. It made Robbie shudder every time. He hoped his future career wouldn't be anything like _that._ Sure, Sportaloon didn't mind, but that was just because he had nicer things to say about the students’ writing. The few words Robbie could make out made him gag.

"I swear if I read 'irregardless' or 'dichotomy' one more time, I'm gonna march straight up to the kid behind this and beat 'em with a monkey wrench."

Sportacus laughed aloud. "Won't that get you arrested?"

"No, no—it's _this_ person who should get arrested for so obviously abusing a thesaurus."

Sportacus gave him a look. "Well, why shouldn't they show me they've put in the extra effort?"

"Because they don't even know what it means! Why the fuck would you use a word if you don't know what it means?"

"That does seem a bit superfluous," Sportacus nodded. Robbie's finger flew to his tongue at that last word, making the other man laugh and wrap his arms around him from behind. "Only kidding, Robbie."

"Are you?" he grunted, though it was softened by the extra kisses behind his ear.

"You know, you'd make a good teacher. Maybe you can apply to be my Teaching Assistant next year."

"What, and read more bullshit like that? Yuck."

"But you're so smart. And you've been getting much better grades in class lately, so you'll be able to explain the material. Please, Robbie? At least think about it?"

He gave an aggravated sigh. "So help me, you'd better not be pouting right now." When he turned himself around and found out he was, he reached up and kissed it off. "Alright, you big crier, I'll think about it."

"Yay!" Sportacus hugged him even tighter, and Robbie couldn't stop the crooked smile from emerging on his face. It was moments like these where he could really think about the two of them together. And honestly? He loved him. He loved him so much. It hurt to love another human this much. At first, he thought it was an undeniable attraction, his body being pulled to his with lightning force. But it was much more than that, it was _love._ A love so powerful he couldn't stop thinking about it. Even when he was alone, he would find himself humming and muttering under his breath about how much he loved Sportacus. Even when they didn't try to, all his thoughts linked back to him. The man was one of the few constant orbits in his crazy-ass life, and without him, he wasn't Robbie. He wanted him—no, _needed_ him so badly. He didn't know if he could go on without him anymore.

An idea struck him then: the kind that one did on a whim. 

This didn't mean he was completely spontaneous, of course. After all, he may or may not have gotten out of bed at 4:30 a.m. that next day and measured Sportacus's right *ahem* _ring finger_ while he was asleep. He might also have counted the wad of cash in his wallet from coffee shop tips a few times before going back to sleep.

Even now, four hours later in history class, Robbie was watching Sportacus’s broad shoulders move beneath his blue jacket as he drew on the whiteboard. He wanted to know how much they measured across, even if it was supposed to be common knowledge. Even if the night before, he’d kissed every inch of those same shoulders from behind, hands crawling across bare skin...

And just like that, he felt his own ardor rising again. Sheesh, what was wrong with him? This was supposed to be a sincere reflection on love and chastity, not an invasion of lustful desires. Sportacus snuck a wink at him when he turned around as if to say, “I can help with that later,” which was very _not_ helpful, thank you. Robbie crossed his legs at the pain, ears reddening, and tried to focus on the boring chalkboard letters for the rest of class. But already, in the brilliant inner workings of his mind, a plan was putting itself into place.

~

...Alright, so, that brilliant plan he mentioned earlier was actually more of an improvisation. The first thing Robbie did when he got back to his room was throw his backpack onto his bed and race out again, only stopping to grab his shoes. Bobby, Tobby, and Flobby must’ve thought he was insane, rushing past them like that. He hadn't told them where he was going, as even _he_ didn't know where he was going, but his feet were taking them there anyway. In high-heeled boots, no less, yeah, wait—could he pause?

His shoulders hunched forward as he gasped for air. What were these, anyway, eight-inches? He might have to give Stephanie crap later for fucking him over like that.

"Too bad, too. They were so cute," he said as he admired the purple suede and the way they laced up in the front. Then again, he did remember how much she complimented him when he first tried them on. He smiled to himself. Alright. Maybe he'd just revoke her feather boa privileges.

When he finally looked up, he realized he was standing in front of a jewelry store. He walked inside and took one long look at the row of shiny jewelry with three dollar signs on the tags, knowing he would never get to see them outside the glass. That Sportanerd crushed his dreams of wearing a gold three-stone diamond ring. Oh, well. That was the price one paid for love.

"Hi, welcome to Magic Gemstones. How can I help you?" a woman's voice from behind the counter interrupted. 

"N-Nothing! I was only stopping by," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Got someone special in your life, huh?" she grinned. Robbie glanced at her glam rock t-shirt and the rainbow flag banner hanging above him and decided right away this was a safe place.

"Listen, he moves around a lot. Have you got anything that won't wear from constant sweat exposure? Preferably on the cheaper side," he added. He still owed his dad that month, after all.

"Sure! What you'll want is a thick, protective-coated platinum. And look! It's even got a little diamond engraved in it!"

"That is nice," he admitted.

The woman smiled. "You look young.” She leaned an elbow on the counter. "You look  _scared,"_  she added as an afterthought.

"You bet your unicorn pin button I am! He's three or four years older than me, he's my professor, and no one else knows we’re dating. I'm young and still in school, spending all my savings on a useless band. What the fuck am I doing?"

Robbie was spilling every insecurity that had been building up over the past day to the stranger in front of him, and here all she could do was laugh.

"Hon, let me be real with you for a minute here—do you love him?"

"A lot, yeah."

"Have you discussed your plans for the future together?"

"Um...recently, actually."

"Can you, like, imagine living your day-to-day life without him?"

He sighed. "No, I definitely couldn't."

"Then what are you waiting for? Pay for your ring and chase after him! Though maybe not in those," she joked, pointing at his high-heeled boots, "however fabulous they may be."

"Well, thank you!" Robbie combed a hand through his gelled hair, feeling like himself for once. She laughed and handed him the ring in the tiny box along with the receipt and change. He tucked them into his leather jacket pockets and bolted out the door again. He briefly turned back around and held it open, pointing at her. "You know, for all this is the dumbest thing I've ever done, there's something that's right about it somehow. I don't get it."

The woman watched after his retreating figure with a familiar glint in her eye. _She_ knew what it was.

~

Robbie arrived at Dean Busybody's office panting and out of breath. Goddammit, he broke his own rule! Never mind the fact he was about to break at least a dozen more. But he had to talk to her...well, _considering._

He knocked on the door.

"Milford, is that you?"

Robbie wondered for a minute what would happen if he answered back in his best President Meanswell voice, "Yes, sugar pie, it's me!", but the pranks would have to wait for another time. This, right here, was important.

"No, not him. It's someone else," he called from the other side. 

"Why, Robert!" Dean Busybody opened the door. "This is a surprise."

"Who did you expect? Sportaflop?" His shoulders rose up and down with laughter, though they stopped when she led him inside. The first thing he noticed about her office was that it was full of costume boxes and very red. And she had all these creepy pop-art portraits of herself with eyes that followed him everywhere. He sat in one of the comfy chairs, and she sat at her desk and stirred her tea.

"Are you here to re-audition for the play after all?"

"What? No. Never." He made a gagging noise to prove his point.

"Anytime you want to try again, Robert, it won't be too late. We could really use someone of your skill," She said the last part quietly, and Robbie knew then she was talking about money.

"Well, I'm not here for that," he said, placing his hands on his thighs, "but there is something I wanna ask you."

"Anything."

"I..." His shoulders deflated. "Look, I'm in love with your son, and I'm gonna ask him to marry me."

 _"What?"_ The old bird squawked so loud she almost fell out of her chair. Robbie would've snickered under any other circumstance. She ran a hand through her blue hair, which was by now very messy. "When did you...? How long...?"

"Over three months, give or take. And I just thought yesterday about popping the question."

"N- _No,"_ she breathed. Robbie looked down and nodded.

"I expected that."

"No, I mean, I—" She huffed in that theater-like way of hers. "I'm just surprised is all. I would think Alex would tell me if he were in a months-long secret relationship with one of his students."

"I guess you give Alex more credit than he deserves."

"I guess so," she agreed weakly.

Neither of them spoke for maybe another two or three minutes. Finally, Dean Busybody folded her hands on the desk. "Robert."

Robbie groaned. "What is it with you academics and your legal name-calling?"

"Well, what would you prefer that I call you?"

"Robbie. _Please."_   He saw the dark raised brow on his mother's face from whenever he accidentally broke something or even told a funny joke and quickly shook his head to clear it from his mind. 

"Robbie," Dean Busybody says, "I'm going to give you permission."

His heart leapt in his throat.

"What?"

"You heard me very clear," her voice booms. "Because I see great potential in you, and I have been noticing my son look happier as of late, I'm going to let you propose to him. Under one condition."

"Which is...?"

"Student-professor relationships at LazyTown Community College are strictly forbidden. And rules are rules." Then, eyes softening, "I'm sorry, Robbie. I'm going to have to ask you to pack your bags."

Time, for all it was difficult to understand, sometimes amazed Robbie. One minute, you were planning a movie night with Jives, getting ready for a study group weekend with Stephanie and the gang for upcoming finals, and watching the other Rottens and Sportacus at both play practice and soccer matches. The next, you were being distanced from all that, erased from academic history. It only took the blink of an eye to ruin someone's life.

"I understand, Dean Busybody."

"Now that you no longer go here, you can call me Bessie," she said, placing a hand on his arm.

"Um. Okay, Bessie." He gets up from his chair, not sure if his legs will give out or not.

"Do you know what's most impressive to me about you?"

He snorted. "My D+ average?"

"Your integrity," she said. "Not just anybody would be willing to go to me personally to ask for my blessing."

"It was a chance I had to take," he shrugged. "It's this same feeling I had earlier, you know? Like everything is worth it for him."

That time, Bessie did not reply, instead allowing her red lips to curl up into a genuine smile. Robbie would have smiled back, but barf might've come out of his mouth. He picked up his backpack for what he knew would be the last time and began walking out.

"I see what you mean, Robbie—about the names. Truly, I do."

He simply nodded and closed the door.

~

After devoting most of his afternoon to packing and searching up nearby apartments to move into once he got officially kicked out, Robbie was ready for another nap. Now that he thought about it, the spring grass felt nice against his bare arms. Maybe he could just lie here on this hill in the park as the sun set and fall asleep, and the worst parts of today would be a dream.

"Hey," Sportacus's voice greeted. Robbie felt a pair of lips land on his. "I saw you run out after history class. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, whatever. I'm good."

"You're not coming down with a fever?" A hand touched his forehead.

"Pfff, no, of course not."

"Are you sure? You're shivering."

"That's because there's a breeze out and I'm wearing a tank top, genius."

"Aha! And a very lovely tank top it is," Sportacus chuckled. He cracked a little bit of one from Robbie, too. 

"You expect anything less?"

"Not from you," Sportacus waved a finger at him.

"Get down here and cuddle with me, then." 

Sportacus happily obliged, doing a handstand before settling next to him. "Show-off," Robbie snorted, and Sportacus giggled and kissed him on the nose. Robbie opened his eyes and looked up. This, right here, was yet another too-perfect moment. One where they were not Sportacus the European History professor and Robbie the rebellious student but Sportacus and Robbie, the young and in-love couple. And even if he couldn’t find it in himself to ask Sportacus the big question or tell him about what happened just yet, he knew that whatever happened, there would be plenty more moments like these for them. So, they spent that night snuggling on the hill, Sportacus blissfully oblivious to Robbie patting his jeans pocket with the velvet box inside of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you actually research the best engagement rings for athletes.
> 
> Ah, how I love being a writer XP


	10. "You should probably hand over your leather jacket now."

Somehow, for one reason or another, the official expulsion process took three days. This was a fucking miracle. It meant Robbie could go to class from Tuesday to Thursday and then take Friday off, claiming it as his own personal ditch day. No one seemed to mind when he did this because nowadays, he actually used this time to complete and turn in his homework. At the moment, though, he was doing something a bit more important. He was watching his friends rehearse after class. The performance was a little over a month from now. From the sound of it, though, one would think it were the third week of practice.

”William,” Bessie’s voice boomed from across the theater, “young man, is this your first time standing on a stage?”

”Uh...I guess not, Dean Busybody.”

”Then you’d better start acting like it! We’re going to be in front of a live audience of at least four hundred people. Some of them being the government representatives who decide whether or not to tear this building down!”

”I-I know,” Beads of sweat ran down William’s forehead, and Robbie could see Stephanie’s paling face in the corner. Pixel moved to comfort her immediately, and she nodded and took his hand. No doubt her uncle had been going through a lot lately.

”Snap out of it, man!” Bessie said, shaking him by the shoulders. “Lord Capulet is no coward. You don't see him wigging out anywhere in your lines."

”Yeah, I never actually read the script...?”

”Me neither...?” Kenneth added.

”Oh, perfect!” Bessie threw her hands up and began storming out of the room.

”Wait! Yo, Bess!”

“William, please, this is the theatre, not hip-hop television!”

“Aw, c’mon, man! Don’t go!”

”Yeah, we got a really good reason to not read it,” said Kenneth. Bessie spun on her heel, still looking unimpressed.

”Well! Do enlighten me.”

”At first, we thought this whole play thing was totally lame,” said William.

”Totally,” Kenneth agreed.

"But then, me and Kenneth thought maybe the guys would like a more modernized story. I mean, why do the same old thing over again, right?”

”Yeah, what a bummer, dude.”

“These guys better get to the point soon,” Stingy groaned quietly to Trixie, who nodded.

“I know, right? All this valleyspeak...I haven’t seen the Blue Hen’s eye twitch so much in my life.”

Robbie snickered. 'Blue Hen'—wow, that was good! He wished _he’d_ thought of that. Then again, he felt a little bad for making fun of her. Sure, he was in the same room as the person who expelled him. At the same time, though, she _was_ his potential mother-in-law. And as far as that went, she wasn't...bad.

Meanwhile, Kenneth and William were still speaking.

“So, we wrote a fresh new take on it from the point of 20th-century communist Germany!”

“It’s gonna revolutionize all of theater. We call it, _'Seidenkomfort.'_ ”

”Me and Will got super drunk over Oktoberfest weekend and just scribbled this out. And Jives totally helped us!”

”Yeah,” Jives cheered, eyes blood red as ever.

“Great party,” Ziggy agreed. Everyone’s eyes darted from side to side at each other. No one quite knew what to expect.

 "Act One. Scene One," William read from his own personal script.

"Scene One," Kenneth emphasized, doing a funny interpretive dance to go with it.

"We open on a farm in Brandenburg. The Soviets have just claimed ownership of every property in the country. All but one." William spun around, then, to face Kenneth. "Son, you must vork in ze family business!"

"But Daddy, no! I vant to be a ballet dancer!"

"Cry me a river, boy!"

Daddy, I...say, vho is zat beautiful lady?" Kenneth trailed off, looking toward Stingy and taking him by the hand.

"Well, _gosh,"_ Stingy giggled, cheeks flushing.

"Rowr, rowr, _ruff!"_

"Oooh, you wild man!" 

Trixie glared at Stingy, but he did not see her.

"Zis bird is your future vife," said William, and Kenneth looked up.

"Really?"

"No, you schnitzel, of course not! I'm a communist, I don't give a rat's crap about my son!"

"Zen...zen vho _am_ I marrying?"

"You know our neighbors, ze Brauns—"

"Vhat?! You vant me to marry Astrid Braun? Zat girl vith ze lips of a pufferfish?!"

"Zat's right! Now get to vork! Cow manure doesn't shovel itself!"

The room was silent for a moment. Then, Pixel spoke up:

”Yeah...we’re doomed.”

Robbie’s shoulders shook with laughter. Even when it was all going so horribly, he couldn't help but enjoy this moment for what it was: another bittersweet mess.

"Wow, I can't believe I'm going to miss this."

A soft hand landed on his shoulder.

"Are you okay, Robbie?"

 _I should be asking_ you _that, Pink Girl,_ Robbie thought, but brushed it aside. "Sure. I'm just sitting here wishing you luck."

"We're gonna need it," Stephanie said, eyes sparkling with gratitude anyway. Together, they watched as Bessie tore apart Kenneth and William's latest team effort.

"Blasphemous. Despicable. Gentlemen, I will have no more of your tomfoolery!"

"Are you sure you don't wanna hear another scene?"

"Yeah, we were just getting into it."

"Enough!" Her voice echoed across the theater. "Class is now dismissed!"

Mixed approval and groans followed as students filed out the door. Kenneth and William were at the front of the line getting lauded by their friends, of course. Robbie had to give them credit. They'd handed that same script in as a report during the last European History class—as inspired by their Cold War unit—and he hadn't seen Sportacus laugh his ass off so much in his life.

“That was brilliant, man!”

”Hey, thanks, dude!”

”I especially liked the title, 'Seidenkomfort.' Where’d you get the inspiration?”

”Oh, you know, I saw it on a box of tampons, and I really liked it.”

~

It had been several months since Robbie last ordered a drink at Pestella's Restaurant & Bar, yet here he was again. With a slow night for business and most of the day spent moving out of the community college and into his new dingy—but cheap!—apartment, it seemed like the right occasion. A thought hit him as he awaited his cocktail and caught sight of a patron wearing a pink hat. Oh, God. How was he going to tell his _dad?_ It was hard enough texting the other Rottens how he couldn't make it to soccer practice that afternoon because he had to unpack his belongings (yeah, Stephanie and Sporta-organize were rubbing off on him. So be it!). Now, he could see them already out of the corner of his eye, entering the building and making a break for him at the bar.

 _"Expelled?"_  Bobby's eyes popped out of his head. "But the year ain't even over yet!"

"We won't have you to follow around anymore.  _Now_ what are we supposed to do?" said Tobby. And Flobby nodded next to him, looking very upset.

"Look, I meant to tell you guys, but it's been a week, and I never got around to it. I'm sorry," said Robbie. 

"Some apology," Bobby shook his head, grinning. "The three of us are all worried sick about you, and here you are getting a drink. The hell'd you do a thing like that for anyway?"

"Oh, buzz off," Robbie scoffed, "I'm a rebel. You knew it'd happen sooner or later."

"Did Professor Yours-Truly have anything to do with it?" said Tobby, and Robbie's eyes crinkled.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I haven't _shown_ Professor Yours-Truly this yet, but..." He took the velvet box out of his purple jacket pocket and opened it for them. 

"Oh, how romantic," Tobby swooned. Flobby put a sunflower he found earlier in his hair and gave a wide toothy grin.

"Congratulations. You must be the luckiest dumbass I know," Bobby said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Seems like a good reason for the Blue Hen to give me the boot, right?"

"'Ey, you stole that name from Trixie." 

"What? I can't help it. It's clever."

"Hohoho, no way," Tobby pointed breathlessly toward the door. Sure enough, of all the dumb luck, there Sportacus was. He walked right past them. He had on a blue tracksuit, silver wristwatch, sneakers, and an arm band with his phone in it. He had on his ear buds and was listening to the Europop station. Yep, it was him alright. 

"Aw, man, this is too good," Bobby hooted.

"Yeah, he doesn't even know we know you're dating, never mind husbands-to-be!" said Tobby.

"Please don't," Robbie groaned. He never felt his pride disappear faster than when they began calling after him.

"Yo! Alex, my man! Look up!"

"Yeah, come over here, Lexi!"

"Can't you hear us?"

Robbie blushed like mad. "Would you three shut up? You're embarrassing me!"

Sportacus turned around and came up to them, smiling.

"Hey, Robbie! Hey, Bobby, Tobby, and Flobby! What's up?"

"Well, Lexi—"

"I'd prefer it if you call me Sportacus," he told Bobby.

"Whatever. Anyway, we were just sitting here having a drink with our guy when who should show up but...oh yeah! You! So, we were wondering if you wanted to join us."

Sportacus was drenched with sweat, and his hair was matted beneath his blue beanie. He looked exhausted, but cute...

"Um, sure! But I hope you don't mind if I don't shower right away, heh heh heh."

Oh, God, that little chuckle nearly broke Robbie's resolve. It took all he had in him not to stand up and wrap his arms around him.

"Do you guys know what you want for dinner?" Sportacus continued.

"Oh, we were thinking salad. You and Robbie could even split one!"

Robbie tapped on Tobby's shoulder. "I hate you," he whispered.

"I know!" Tobby gloated in his face.

"That sounds like a great idea, Tobby. Very sensible of you," said Sportacus, sneaking a wink at Robbie. "I'll pay for you tonight, boys."

"Sweet!" Bobby and Flobby high-fived.

"So, _Lexi,"_ Bobby said, tracing the rim of his water glass, "why do you teach European History class?" If there was anything that Rotten hated, it was awkward silence...plus silence in general.

"Well, that's easy. It's because I _like_  European history. Medieval Studies was one of my majors back at the University of Iceland."

"You went to Iceland?!" the three of them gaped.

"Yes. It's a _beautiful_ country." And here, his deep blue eyes looked into Robbie's gray ones as a blush lit up his face. Just when he thought he couldn't fall more in love...Goddammit...

"Hey, you know," Tobby said after barely recovering, "Robbie here is _also_ into European history and _from_ Iceland. I think destiny is trying to tell us something~!"

 _Pleasepleaseplease, whatever's up there, just end this NOW,_ Robbie thought, looking at the ceiling. Then, almost like a sign sent exactly from that place, there came a distraction. Only not the kind anyone would hope for.

“Hello, what’s this?” a pair of colorful hats cracked up, approaching the five. “Finally got you, did he?” one of them chuckled, elbowing Sportacus’s side.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You know. Robbie,” they said, pointing him out. Whoops! Must not have seen him making the panicked cut-off signal on time. _Shit, he forgot...!_ “Didn’t this guy get fired?”

“Fired? No, I’m still teaching,” Sportacus clarified.

“Then that means Robbie’s almost lost the bet,” the guy wearing the green cap said.

“Sshhh! Idiot!” The other two glared at him, but it was too late.

“A bet? What are you talking about? Robbie?”

No matter how much he tried to use Flobby as a shield, it wouldn’t protect him from the confusion in Sportacus’s eyes nor the rapid beating of his own heart despite his shock-still body. He emerged from behind him and sighed, head hanging down. “When you first got here last October, I wanted you gone. So, I made a bet with the guys that I’d make you lose your job before the spring performance.”

The frown lines grew deeper in Sportacus’s forehead, though his sunken brows and puppy dog eyes didn’t signify anger.

“So…all those times you flirted with me and told me you loved me, it was just…me being used?”

“Sport, no, I really did fall in love with you,” Robbie said, reaching for him, but he turned away. “I just…I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

A heavy silence filled the air around them, and the other Rottens covered their mouths or squirmed in their seats. Then, he spoke up:

“I didn’t mean for us to happen either.”

“Oh, God. Sportacus. You don’t mean that.”

“I thought you were right. I thought maybe when I left Pablo, I was making the right decision, but now, I’m not sure anymore.”

“Please—“

“What were we thinking anyway? I’m a professor. You’re a student. Clearly, you weren’t looking to pursue a serious relationship. I blame myself for not realizing.”

“Well, you don’t have to go all Sporta-martyr on me,” Robbie huffed just then, “because you don’t have to worry about your precious reputation anymore. As of this morning, I am expelled from L.T. Community College!”

Sportacus’s eyebrows sank even lower if possible. “But you told me you had a cold. I was here to pick you up some chicken noodle soup.”

“Yeah, well, I lied! And guess what else I lied about? Know how you said I was getting good grades lately and barely needed Stephanie’s help? Well, I had a nervous breakdown over my second history essay, so since then, I’ve been paying Trixie to write them for me! Because I have better things to do with my time than write a bunch of stupid papers for a class I don’t even care about!”

His body paled and shook. Was this how he felt? Yes…three or four months ago. Now, he had more of a different opinion. But when one kept things like these inside for a long time, they tended to, well, explode out. Not Sportacus, though. When he experienced strong emotions, he turned more inward. He’d look down, away from the person’s eyes, and talk in a soft, chilling voice.

“Robbie. How…rotten.”

Without another word, he got up and left, shoulders deflated. The other Rottens followed after him, Bobby looking equally-bummed and Flobby comforting a teary Tobby as he hiccuped, “Oh, no. We’re h-horrible friends—”

Once again, time was a paradox of amazing cruelty. Robbie was given enough to act like a jerk and not enough to actually tell Sportacus the beautiful stupid reason he staked his entire future. Then, he watched nearly everyone leave the restaurant in slow motion before time sped up again once they were gone. And that was that. Robbie Rotten—no, _Robert Stefánsson,_ was no longer a student at L.T. Community College and no longer had a lover. Meanwhile, the MayhemTown Tech guys walked up behind him.

“Wow, _this_ is shitty timing...” they grimaced, whistling and rubbing their hands together. “But seriously, you should probably hand over your leather jacket now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear...


End file.
